Tales of Frostia
by RosaryLightning
Summary: WARNING: This is not a direct spin-off of Les Miz, but one of those "twist" type stories...the characters are set in a medium magic fantasy land and are loosely based on Les Miz, but the plot is rather complicated...well enjoy if you can :P
1. Chapter I - The Inn at Porthos

_**Tales of Frostia**_

**Book One** _Forbidden Magic_

**Chapter I** - _The Inn of Porthos_

It is the Four Seasons Festival yet again with the coming of the New Years. In Porthos, the celebration was surging with increasing decorations and pastries in the streets and booked inn rooms. The apothecaries prepared powdered Amethysts and dried poppy seeds rolled in cigarette papers. They would be bought by travellers and sightseers who would, after a good many purchases of food and drinks, veer to the stadium. It was really quite a plain stone structure built upon a slanted hill, yet there was a rough charm to it. Great, fuchsia fires were ignited in the torches placed all around the stage, and blown through a magniscope, its light made the sphere so bright that even the heaven's clouds were lit crimson. There were no magic shows, no circus shows, no dramas, not really, but young paladins and young flowers. The Rosary Guild accepted several hundred new paladin members every year, and here was where the several chosen new warriors were demonstrated. They were brought up, given a list of virtues to which the crowd cheered, sometimes cried: "that's nonsense!" and more often, asked to show it. To which the King of Frostia would, if the crowd insisted, asked the paladin to demonstrate his virtues. Monsters were prepared and locked in cages; machines were oiled and spurring; other young paladins were ready to jostle each other. The paladin would of course accept the challenge to which he ascribed himself to, and prove his honour-or prove otherwise. When the task is completed, he may respectfully exit having forged a new reputation, or in rarer cases, a noble or some other will pay for his services, and a contract is established so he entered the service of a lord as a knight. The fairest of noble ladies were granted audience in the front, and when they saw a young paladin that pleased them considerably they called that paladin forth and granted him a flower, jewel or handkerchief.

Near the end, there would be four titles granted to four paladins; the Paladin of Spring, given to one who has received the most tokens and favours from the crowd; the Paladin of Autumn, bestowed to one who was "purchased" by the highest authority and paid for by the most ridiculous price; the Paladin of Summer, one who has demonstrated the most accomplished skills; and the Paladin of Winter, who has withstood the most challenges. They were all given a good amount of gold with the Paladin of Spring receiving the least and Paladin of Winter the most, each a unique prize kept mystery till the end, and a crown of golden Sakura, Chrysanthemum, Mosaic Lily or Plum blossoms, respectively. It was a happy hour for all.

Certainly, it wasn't the greatest entertainment, but the people were always happy to see young paladins of the Rosary Guild. It is a well known the Guild was close to Porthos and its allied cities, and offered public protection from thugs, thieves and invading forces from other cities. The citizens of Porthos may rest easy at night, and spies from other cities might be intimidated by the display of power.

Meanwhile, the Baltic family was constructing a mansion. They were an old noble family of Porthos and one who traditionally received the royalty as guests-such their intention of building the grand mansion. The east side would be paved a water source from the Dryad River nearby, the north an exquisite garden courtyard for summer lounges, the south facing towards the mountains and meadows of distant Mt. Ætna, and the west opening to the heart of the city, where the markets and the stadium lies. The Baltic family also had another intention for this lavishness-King Niür and his Queen Valerie is bringing their third son, Prince Aezean, recently who have come of age. King Niür is engaging him, and have made it known that he intends him for the youngest daughter of the Baltic family-at the end of their visit in the Four Seasons Festival. To make it fit for such a proposal, the Baltics are planning the construction with great nuisance and vehemence. In the least it has become a curious thing of speculation, as citizens who walked by stopped to gaze up at its looming skeleton, and children, who sat on the curbs to admire the great drilling machines that stung into the earth. In the oncoming waves of visitors, it has become more than ever a rising landmark for the city, attracting the eyes of even the most indifferent paladin. So it was with Lord Felix Tholomyès and his personal guard, Puck.

"Quite a thing it is. Isn't it, Lord Tholomyès?" Said Puck, excited on his pony. The stream of horses which they were part of walked on at even paces throughout the streets. Tholomyès kept a prim posture and did not budge an inch. He was recently promoted to a Major in the Rosary Guild and selected to come as a representative for Porthos. A cluster of kingfisher and swan feathers ornamented his right temple.

"Within three days the construction shall be finished," he answered coolly. "Then perhaps we may catch a glimpse of His Majesties as they parade through the streets?"

"They'll be living better in better conditions than us, I'd reckon," remarked Puck as he glimpsed wistfully towards the street corner they turned into. It was quite a noisy and animated street bustling with "common" life, especially as twilight settled in and the hard days labour were being washed away by jovial song making, dances and famous meads. The market was open. The merchants were waving around an assortment of local and bartered items-boas strung of cocktail feathers, straws moulded by honey, magniscopes smelted by emerald, steady tentskin and tentpoles made of polar bear skin and whale bones, and a lopsided scale crafted of gold that always leaned to one side. Gypsies were dancing in the market, their fires casting light onto the shady figures who curled in the corners, watching the fire sparks fade into the cool night, chewing on sunflower seeds and pipes. The bar windows were emulating with lights of Amber. Fresh, pretty hostesses with dimples in their apples served wine brimming in large, metal cups. As in due concern to injury there were few contests, but the traditional apple bobbing and dragon quests were brought out. A fight broke out at the ball prancing station. Tholomyès and Puck passed by unmoved, and they stopped fighting for a while to look at these noble figures.

They stopped and registered into the inn. Bustling with a few rustic customers, the desk was at the very back. On its side was a painted statue of a marine corp drinking from a pink conch shell and face red as mad. A towering monster lurched over the desk, shaking drinks; before her, two lovely little girls were playing dolls on the ground. They were very pretty and might make fine hostesses one day. Puck approached the drink maker, cautiously, like she was a sleeping dragon.

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

The woman looked up suddenly at him, and a swollen wart on her nose twitched.

"Is this Thénadier's Inn? The Old Sailor?"

"Oh, excuse me," the woman grunted, and dived behind the desk, pulling out a book bound by otter skin. She flipped through it, stopping at a newly inked page. Her sharp nails were coloured with hanna, but ten different hues mixed for ten nails. "Are you Lord Tholomyèsus from Rignos? ...Ah, but welcome. Éponine!"

The elder girl of the two who were playing, with black curls and a blue dress, got up and walked up to the counter. The woman opened a big cabinet behind her, and Puck saw that on its walls hung an assortment of newly polished keys glimmering with ornamented feathers, shells and fake jewels. The woman took a key pinned with a pearly shell and another key with a cardinal feather from their nails, and instructed the little girl: "Take these gentlemen up to the Mermaid's Rock. Then take the batch of gentlemen behind you to the Cardinal's Lounge. Azelma, get out and take their horses to the stables!"

"But mama, it's so cold outside!"

"Don't be silly, dove. Come back tonight and I'll give you extra crowberry jam and a second cup of almond milk."

The younger girl got up at her mama's cooing, unhappy that she must leave the warm fire. The elder girl replied, "Follow me, ye gentlemen" and walked up the stairwell. Lord Tholomyès and Puck looked at each other, smiled, and followed upstairs to the rooms.

The second floor of the inn was booming with laughter and voices from the closed rooms, almost as loud as the lounge below. The floor, however, was much darker, with only a few candles upon the hallways and windows to illuminate the dry pattern of roses on its walls. The next floor was considerably quieter and felt to have an earthly warmth, its boards constructed of dark ebony and lit by lamps. The little girl stopped at the room at the farthest end of the hall and unlocked the door with a fiercely red cardinal painted on it. She handed the key to the guards who were accompanying Lord Tholomyès and the Lord bid goodnight to them who were resting from stationary. Next she went up and, followed by the remaining few of the crowd, to the fourth floor, brightly lit by electric lamps and Lynx blossoms which were hanging out from the marble walls. She came to a door painted with a mermaid, her wet red hair barely concealing her breasts and her shimmering tail enveloped by sea foam. The little girl opened the door like any other and showed them in. It was dimly but well lit by painted candles; the brocade curtains upon the windows were drawn back, so that some natural light poured forth onto the neat pale pink bed, which was running down with soft satin veils.

"Anything to drink?" Asked the little girl.

"No, no," said Puck. "We'll go down and retrieve them ourselves. You may go now."

The little girl bowed and closed the door. The moment she did, Lord Tholomyès grabbed Puck by the waist and, laughing, landed backwards into the beds and cushions, where they fell into a long kiss. As the lord leaned in to kiss again, Puck laughed and pushed him back, saying: "No, not tonight, Lord Tholomyès; I feel rather ill."

"Ill from traveling?"

"A bit of aches in the stomach, but nothing to be concerned of. Anyhow, waste no time with me tonight. It is a Festival; perhaps there is something remarkable in the streets. You can have me nearly anytime."

"Nay, nay, I won't have it. What is there to be said about Porthos? Another silly little polis that I am perhaps to be tasked with guarding."

"Nevertheless, you ought to indulge in your travels more. Come, we'll go down together; perhaps that front desk ogress might know something of an interesting nature."

Lord Tholomyès heaved a disappointing sigh as he placed his dignified feathers back behind his ear. The two redressed into casual wears, informed the guards standing post before the Mermaid's Rock of where they were heading, and went back downstairs. The 'ogress' was again busy stoking the fires; when she saw Lord Tholomyès and Puck coming down, she smiled and wavered forth: "My lords! How are you this evening? Madame Thénadier, at your service. I hope you did not find our plain rooms a disappointment-us small folk make by with bits and pieces. You are from the Rosary Guild, I presume. Here for the Stadium like the other young paladin chaps? How may I serve you?"

"Ah...that's right." Lord Tholomyès curled his jaws. "How many of the paladins are here tonight?"

"Winds are the rumours, I cannot say. Yet you look well kept in your nature and I say you are better looking than some of the other contestants. Let's see if I can't water you good the next day so that if you ought to win a title, I could claim it partly due to my hospitality-for business. Some Papaya Mead? We're known for these."

"No, no," answered Puck, bemused. "Don't want to get drunk before the fun."

"Oh, heading out, are you? I know some good gambling spots and game places. Or are you looking for anything else?"

"Do you know any fair ladies around? There's no fun strolling at night without the women."

Lord Tholomyès pinched Puck in the hips, but Madame Thénadier threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, your lot! Nothing too good, I assure you, nothing too good for ye young paladins. Come here, come here."

They followed her to the back room, where she whispered mysteriously: "My husband owns a nice little place right around the street called the Drunken Conch. He has some nice ladies living there with him. Now, if you'd like, I'll call a few nice girls for you both to your rooms. He's got himself the finest batch of exotic breeds which will make your night...well, I dare say, memorable. Nothing like a night lady's nurture to freshen up your tiring traveling! What say you?"

"Excellent," proclaimed Puck before Lord Tholomyès could wince a sound. "Most excellent. Call one over for this lord over here, and you'll have your reward."

"Ah, but the catch is..."

"Yes, yes I know!" Puck reached into Lord Tholomyès' waist, and from the pouch on his belt drew two shiny gold pieces. "If the service is good, you may have another set of dyed silk for your Festival clothes."

Madame Thénadier's eyes lit, and she took the payment in her gorilla palms before she made a deep, long bow. She then proceeded to step outside and bellow: "Éponine!"

The little girls were whispering together in the corners of the inn, but upon her mother's calling Éponine got up again obediently and came to the ogress. "Yes, mama?"

Madame Thénadier gave her one of the two gold pieces. "Give this to your papa across the streets, and tell him to send over two or three girls. Hurry hirry!"

She gave the little girl a slap on the butt, and she quickly dashed out, the hem of her skirt flying behind her like a witch. Madame Thénadier turned, smiled, and reached out an arm: "Now, please, come out here. Have a nice glass of Mead before they come."

Puck and Lord Tholomyès obeyed her like her daughter did, and set themselves up on the bar where nobody else sat. Everyone was too heated in drinks and conversation on the couches and bench beds. Under the big turtle head mounted on a lodge wall, two workers were arm wrestling, and a crowd surrounded them, cheering. A bard, half-drunk, was sitting and wobbling on the fireplace, plucking at his lute.

Madame Thénadier took out some peppermint from a sealed jar and began to crush them with her pestle.

"Now, while we are busy," said Puck, hand on leg, attentive, "Tell me about who are getting chosen to sit in the front this time?"

"Oh, the ladies? Not I, unfortunately, though I'd love a great deal of that. I heard, of course, that there's Lady Svana of the County and Lady Yvonne, sister of the Bishop-I can't imagine him having his sister sitting so close to the stadium! but of course there is nothing remarkable about these ladies save for some beauty. Now the real talk: two girls from the Baltics: Dahlia and Zephine. Both I have seen before as children; they were angels, my lords, and now full grown, they'll surely outmatch the nymphs in their beauty. Lady Dahlia has such rich raven hair and a pair of violet eyes, they say, and Lady Zephine skin that were soft like cream and radiant blue-green eyes. Their youngest is of the main family branch-Lady Cosette, she is also very pretty, but going to be engaged to Prince Aezean who is coming, so she won't be appearing up front. Quite anyone unlike them, raised in the most dignified and graceful manner, skilled in embroidery, music and art. Their mother is an excellent housekeeper-she oversees the construction of the new mansion, which you surely saw when you entered the city, and I believe like mother, like daughter."

She giggled and looked at Azelma as she took out a papaya and ruthlessly hatched it in half, the juices spilling across the table.

"Lucky twits to get them for wives, then," said Puck. "I'd better look carefully at the ladies when it is time, to fill my hunger. Who else?"

"Lady Favourite, her father is Count Rossepa, the nouveau riche in Porthos. I don't know why they would choose her. She's rather plain in my opinion, but they want to snob it up to Rossepa, I suppose. Oh, who could make such money in a few months time anyway? I suspect he went and did-oh, hello, sir! What would you like?"

An old man with a freshly cut beard, snow white, sat down in front of the counter, not far from Puck and Lord Tholomyès. The two cast suspicious glances at the man, who was wearing a faded pine-coloured robe that buttoned up to his throat, and a pair of goggles made from deer antlers sealed tight on his eyes, making only his jaw, boots and gloves hands visible. The man, sensing the young men's gazes, turned to look at them, and smiled-or more precisely moved his beard. "I'll have a cup of gin," replied he.

Madame Thénadier shot the unwelcome stranger a dirty look, took out a rusted cup and turned the tap on a barrel made of turtle shell pieces, filling it three quarters before serving it to him. She then resumed preparing the Mead and began adding pulp and spices to the drink.

"Now, where was I-ah, yes. The ladies. Well, I suppose that's all. All I know, that is. Oh, hang on!"

She slid the Papaya Mead glasses so quickly to Puck and Lord Tholomyès that they nearly missed it.

Madame Thénadier stared at the ceiling briefly, then leaned in towards them, producing and opening a Chinese fan before whispering: "Winds are rumours, indeed, but I heard on particularly important one; Hugo...he is coming to Porthos...!"

Puck nearly choked on his Mead and stared at Madame Thénadier. "I thought he was exiled! By our Guild! What's he doing here...?"

Madame Thénadier shook her head and withdrew her lean: "Nobody knows, my lads...and with the Four Seasons Festival coming up, His Majesties away from the Capital, I'm afraid there might be some dark storms brewing...Hugo, the shadow that haunts us all, isn't it..."

A solemn silence presided over them all. Lord Tholomyès, Puck and the stranger sipped their drink gloomily. The strange practices of the Alchemist and his bloodthirsty blades still conjured unpleasant memories, even in happy times, in hours of rejoice and peace. He infested the land with blood and conjured terror in people's dreams. Even as young as Puck is, he remembered his dealing with the infamous man; the night when, just as his family was coming indoors from the garden, his mother still outside picking up baby George from the forsythias, that suddenly the earth shook like nothing before; an evaporating cloud of red dust shot into the sky, and his mother and the baby were both dead in seconds. He had froze-her life could not just have been taken, surely, it was simply another ordinary afternoon of peace and tranquility...yet that image of horror was engraved into his memories, forever. He later learned it was another work of Hugo who was tampering with Black Magic, Hugo the Alchemist, the Magician, lately the Mad Killer. His experimental explosions decimated hundreds within his range. There were Wanted posters posted everywhere in the streets for his head. Puck remembered that on those wanted posters, his portrait was simply there, staring blankly into the passer-bys' faces, like a doll's eyes, lifeless. They wanted him for his destructive and cruel experiments, and Puck, too, wants him dead. He was one of the luckier ones who had not lost his father's, sister's or his own life to his mad experiments, which in a way was a mercy of misfortune.

He took another sip of his Mead and realized it had no taste. Then Lord Tholomyès suddenly spoke: "I don't know if he's real or fictionalized by some other force to be the scapegoat for mishappenings," he muttered quietly.

"Forget it," snapped Madame Thénadier, who was now refilling some glasses. "He's a madman, that's who he is, but he is no invention! I heard he used to dwell in the surface; you know them surface people, all scums who have no conscience."

They all suddenly turned to look at the mysterious old man still sitting upon the bar, casually sipping his gin. Again he felt their gaze, and turning to them, gave a polite smile. Before Puck could examine his features in detail, there was suddenly a great bustling at the door; the inn bell rung, and Madame Thénadier cried: "Oh, they're here!" She turned to her noble guests: "I do apologize, good sirs, for my relentless gossips, but enough news about this depressing business; if Hugo dares come here, he'll sure to be captured by the veteran captains of the Guild. Now forget this, please, and enjoy the delightful evening!"

It was as if bright morning rays had somehow found a way to visit the inn in the evening. Three fair girls of glowing beauty had come in through the door, guided by Éponine, and suddenly brightened the whole room by a full magnitude. As they came in, the bustling quieted a little as the crowd turned to look, and the drunk bard fell off the fireplace. The meeting was very routine. Puck and Tholomyès felt enchanted, and gestured them to come sit next to them on the bar. They hurried over, nearly pushing the old man from his seat, who then moved to a lounge couch. Éponine went back to playing, as though this was a very common sight for her.

The girls ordered drinks, and from their manners and looks the gentlemen felt satisfaction to the point as if the gold pieces had paid off already. They asked for their names; to which they answered "Dahlia" "Zephine" and "Fantine". Next year, no doubt, they would call themselves "Anna Maria" "Ariadne" and "Cathleen" or some other silly names. Dahlia wore a pair of old but fashionable laced gloves, harshly crimson, with a scarlet ribbon folded into a floral pattern on her hands' back, pinned with a fake pearl in the centre; their silk ribbons flowed down in a flirtatious but sanguine manner, and generally the glove was there to conceal the charm of the hand, only revealing the ivory fingers laced with nails pink like peach blossoms. Zephine, silly girl, wore a veil like a top-class lady, but her eyes were clear like autumn waters, and her lips moved so subtly behind the mist veil when she spoke it drove one mad. As for Fantine, she was there in case the gentlemen grew bored of the other two. Indeed, when Fantine said anything in body or words she seemed to be only saying "Conquer me" that it was another attraction altogether.

They put on their beau masks and went out strolling together. Night was nigh; they conversed, laughed, held hands, kissed; when they passed by the magic shows they stopped to watch, purchasing a bowl of straw'd passion fruits and drank in the meantime. Stopping by the shops, Dahlia wanted a Sunday umbrella, Zephine a new set of rouge, and both wanted silk stockings. Fantine wanted a single Carnation. They then headed to the Red Tower, each lady equipped with a luminous ring. In the dark stairwell the lovers became more voluptuous than ever, stroking every limb and willow waist as they ascended. When they got to the high floors, a bird's eye view of the city is presented before them. Zephine bent over the battlements, hair dancing in high winds, gasped, and stumbled back laughing right into Puck's arms. They continued up till they reached the top. Alone high up in the tower peak, Puck was in wanting to remove the young girls' gloves and veil that he may have a better look at their hands and lips, but they resisted against him, keeping their charms sealed till the end. They then came down and went to Beaumarchais' for a gamble and won a plate of Apricot cookies; they played a few round of darts, apple bobbing and squash; they danced with the Gypsy tambourines; they rode on the Ride of Lanterns; Puck bought a necklace of a small, glass cornucopia locket filled with musk and a bottle of Madame Genie's elixir, which was just sparkling wine. Tholomyès found some time to drop his sword at the local blacksmith's to sharpen, and bought new stirrups.

When the moon began to reach its zenith they deemed it late and began to head back, wishing for a good bed in preparation for tomorrow's training. The shops were locked, flags taken down, the warmth of cheers and laughter fading to cool silence and stokes of night drums. They clasped each other and walked towards the inn, before Fantine stopped by a curiously decorated sign. It had Gothic rims, and very old letters scraped away by time. It creaked and shook as the wind passed by. She went out of Tholomyès' arms to peek in the shop windows, which were dark as onyx. Behind the windows on the display racks were displays of assortments of oddities; meteorites of different shades, spell books, talismans, flasks of various coloured liquor, bone vases imprinted by dried fruits, ropes embedded with jewels, flowers that bore half fresh and half wilted faces, and fake nails borrowing colours from magma, starry skies, cat's eyes and crystal waters. The inside of the store had such extreme darkness it seemed more than absence of light, and all that was visible was a single ram skull, carefully cut and lovingly placed on a clerk's desk, but the desk was quite invisible so it seemed as if the skull was floating on a void. The doors of the shop was sealed with five locks and a silver chain, it too like the store items within gathering dust. The sign of the shop read: M. Hugo's Inventions Extraordinaire. A short poem was scribbled on the corner of the board, hastily done but not without merit:

_The edge of Good and Evil often dim_

_On this subject do we chant this hymn_

_That Good does not always Good it seem_

_And Evil sometimes by Virtue redeem_

_Before Virtue Evil doth always kneel_

_Yet Evil is always at Good's heel_

_Restless, endless Good's shadow endure_

_Austere, unique, true Good remains pure_

Fantine put her body against the glass and hungrily scouted every last little thing, fascinated. Tholomyès then came up, put his arms around her shoulders and steered her back to the sidewalk:

"Now, my dear, that's done and over with. Nothing inside the shop for at least ten years. I don't know why they keep it, I'd ask to demolish it."

"Oh, let me go, you mad dog!" Fantine was pushing Tholomyès away, but only half trying. He then swept her up and carried her in his arms like a new bride. Zephine and Dahlia giggled. Lord Tholomyès laughed as well, and proceeded to say:

"You, my sweet, have been acting pretentious all night; has it not made it into your thick skull that I paid for you and I am your master tonight, you little needle? Hmm? Has it never occurred to you who your body and soul's devotion must remain to? Look here, look, give me a kiss."

Fantine smiled, leaned forth as if to return the kiss, but suddenly struggled loose and dashed away till Puck and the two girls were between them. "You won't have me, lord, you shan't; I am but a maiden, I'm only here to serve my masters and mistresses and cater to them. You look for a lover, you find only Daphne!"

She laughed, and her fingers concealed her lips in such a fashion it seemed quite enticing. Puck grabbed her and cried: "You, a virgin? I'd sooner see camels dance." He kissed her on the cheek, and they returned to the Old Sailor in gaiety. As they passed by the Drunken Conch, Puck told Lord Tholomyès that he will be going inside with Zephine and Dahlia, and will come back later in the night. Lord Tholomyès gave him his silent approval, and took only Fantine back into the inn. As the increasing guests in the lounge turned to gaze at them, Lord Tholomyès forced a kiss on Fantine causing several guests to erupt in laughter. The couple then went upstairs into Mermaid's Rock, and Lord Tholomyès dismissed the guards outside. He locked the door when they were alone in the room. Fantine smiled, and took out a pack of cards to kill an hour or two. A while later, Madame Thénadier brought in more food, which consisted of a plate of roasted chestnuts and sweetmeats, and a pot of lemon cider. After the snacks and games Fantine went away for a while to bathe and refresh; she came out with a naughtier smile on her face. They resumed playing for a while till Fantine felt somewhat fatigued, and so they shut the curtains before Fantine unbuttoned some of her vest to let out her tender breasts. Lord Tholomyès told her to give him a round of fellatio, and the two were in the middle of it when Puck, who snuck back, suddenly unlocked the door and burst in. He laughed. "Oh, happy are you now, little Daphne?"

Fantine stopped, turned and shouted: "Shut the door, you fool!" Puck puckered his lips, and said:

"I won't, I swear, till you give me a kiss."

Fantine grunted and gave him one before she chased him out, and Puck left with satisfactory laughter. Lord Tholomyès was amused beyond all this, but the hour of joy resumed, and after a while he took her. When the deed was done, the lord cuddled her and showered kisses on her cheeks, inquiring: "Is this your first? Do they treat you well?" Fantine answered them as if she couldn't hear them; she was tired, and exaggerated it so by half gasping and dropping her eyelids. When she recovered a little, Fantine put her head on his chest and begged for a present. Lord Tholomyès stroked her temples and whispered: "I've been spoiling you, you little needle; what do more do you want?"

"Nothing, I shan't have asked it, my lord, if it weren't for that today is my fourteenth birthday. Dehlia and Zephine got the stockings, them little whores, but I barely have any new dresses to keep myself decent, I just have some old rags made from Gingko leaves which barely conceals me on a winter's day!"

"You're that young? Well, I didn't know, I thought you were-never mind. My gosh, I've been making love to a thirteen, fourteen-actually, damn, that sounds kind of hot."

"S'il vous plaît," Fantine begged, and there was such pity in her expression that Lord Tholomyès gave her a kiss, took the silver manacle he took off and placed on a nearby cabinet earlier, and clasped it around her wrist. "It's made of the purest silver. I was given this at my birthday. Never liked it anyway, but keep it to yourself."

Fantine giggled, her cheeks blushing like a softer Mars and thanked him with her tongue; soon the city clock struck one. She then got up and began putting on clothes, pending leave. Lord Tholomyès felt a little reluctant to let the girl go so soon, but supposed it all for the best, and fell out cold when she exited the door.

Fantine walked through the hallway towards the stairs, passing Puck as he was coming back from the lounge. Madame Thénadier was goading Éponine and Azelma to go to bed. When she saw Fantine walk by, she sneered: "Where's the pay? I hope you didn't keep any extras to yourself!"

Fantine spat back: "Shut up, ye old bat, the lord's assistant ought to have made the pay to you, not to me!"

Madame Thénadier narrowed her eyes and kept watch on Fantine's back as she went out. As Fantine walked past the drunk bard he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forth for a kiss, but Fantine struggled free and shoved him onto the floor, where he remained. The streets were dark, the hidden frosts of the wind biting her skin. A dog barked in the alleyway. She hurried around the corner, and went into the shabby building with a sign that read: "The Drunken Conch", the only building that still had some light within. As she entered, a slim, petite man stepped out of the shadows, and hissed: "At last you've gotten yourself home!"

Fantine, ignoring him, turned into a hidden hall and whirled into the room at the end veiled by a pair of moth-eaten curtains. The room's walls were slightly unstable, and its apertures were shrouded by overgrown, scaling vines. Two or three girls still in their best garments loosely dressed were sleeping on the floor, curled up or laid out next to each other. Three frosty mirrors aligned before the windows, each cast with ghostly shadows from the webbed lightbulbs. Fantine began removing her hairpins, bonnet, ornaments and makeup in front of a mirror. Dehlia was already asleep before Zephine came in, her hair messed like dispersed clouds. She came next to Fantine, evidently worn out just like her. "How was he?"

"The young paladin? Ah yes, well, not like it's my first time serving a man like him."

Fantine stifled a yawn, but still retrieved a dress from her room and went into the bath as per usual. It was a cheap Orient bath, consisting of a wooden bucket steamed over a fireplace stoked by blowing through a bamboo pipe, Chinese honeylocusts stacked in a wooden plum plate next to the candelebra, and a pile of rough-fibre towels that rested on a rock slate in the corner. Fantine scrubbed herself extra well to get Tholomyès' stench off her body. She then rinsed, rubbed and wrung her hair dry. There was still a full night's work to prepare for.

As she was sitting on a stool spreading lotion over her skin, Thénadier burst in like a suspicious cat. He wheezed at the fragrant steam that attacked his entrance, then hissed again when he regained composure: "Where's your clothes?"

Fantine gave a nod with her chin, and Thénadier walked to her nod's direction, coming to a pile of shed dresses and undergarments shrivelled like locusts' shells. He dug through them, examining them carefully piece by piece, till not finding anything of value hidden in the folds, sighed frustratingly and limped out-he was bad in one leg. As Fantine finished applying the lotion and brushed her hair, she clasped on her newly scented vests and undergarments, put on her aero coloured dress, and headed out again to ornament herself. She braided her long, golden hair and tied them to her temples. She powdered her face and neck, dappled on rouge and penciled her eyes. A hideous peach wood jewellery box perched in the mirror cabinets, which she opened and put on a pair of heavy fake Turquoise earrings stashed within. She found a gold-laced Chinese fan and a pouch of violet beads in the next cabinet and took it with her as she headed outside. Thénadier was already sitting on the balcony sipping black tea. He smelled her fragrance and grunted without turning back: "Finally! Took yourself long enough. Sit down-here comes some latecomers."

Two of them, to be precise, headed this way. Fantine sat upon a window sill and put on her most alluring smile. Thénadier stopped the hesitating customers and dragged them hither-"Don't doubt about it...best price in the city..." They were travellers too, and in a second was charmed into the house by Thénadier, accompanied by Fantine.

Several other guests also called in. When the night rush was over, it was nearly daybreak. Fantine was given leave to rest, but right after Thénadier left the room, she got up and removed a brick in the floor, taking out her newly begotten silver accessory that she had hidden carefully from Thénadier's claws. She then sneaked out through the back door, carrying her manacle and an old ragged skirt with her.


	2. Chapter II - Letters from Clouds

**Chapter II** – _Letters from Clouds_

The location of Porthos and other allied cities have not been disclosed so far. Generally it might seem to get ahead of oneself if one were to recount geographical or historical information that not even the most well studied scholar of Porthos or even Frostia might know. Therefore, we tell what is well known to the scientific community of Frostia to the reader now.

The city is located near the southern coast of Eagle's Thorn, so called an island but great in land mass; Frostia is composed of many of islands like these, which are protected in two's and three's by air pockets that are commonly known as Spheres. The islands are inhabited by creatures much like humans called Crunions, who are virtually identical to us but with more muscular build and developed senses, so they seem to be related to both the common man and Neanderthals. They developed usage of magic in their Tribal Era, an art which today has been outlawed, but scarcely needed as they prefer brute strength and primitive weaponry only next to, derived from their timid nature, shelter and safety whenever possible. The sea flowed around the island and when reaching the Sphere's edge was inclined to flow upwards like a reversed waterfall. When the waters reached the pole of the Sphere they were stuck there like frozen crystals, neither rising above nor falling below. The lava outside would rise and lick the Sphere's walls warming the crystals till they melted and fell as precipitation, for the atmosphere enveloping the Sphere was mostly composed of burning, molten rock and difficult to travel through. The lava surrounded and darkened the Sphere at night, and ebbed and cooled during day. There was a central core for each Sphere which brought some light into them, but the range of light was expansive depending on the time. If it should be strange that Crunions have seasons as we do though it appears impossible for them, it ought to be known that their seasonal cycle is not stemmed from the same conditions as us. A twenty-three degree tilt decided the intercession of seasons on our planet; the rising and falling of the power of the core decided theirs. In the spring and summer the core was especially exalted, and in the autumn and winters of their time waned in power. Contrary to us, however, most of the citizens of Frostia venerated this regularity and thus gave reason to their joy in celebrating the Four Seasons' Festival.

The cores, however, were not crafted by men's hands. It still is a mysterious wonder of how they came to be, and the mystery only shrivelled slightly at the discovery of an energy source that flowed into the core, constantly reacting with its elements and thereby producing light. Yet the energy source drew further inquiry; its origin was unknown; it had appeared so similar to lava that it could be mistaken for another lava stream, but it was only ostensibly so at the extreme surface level, for upon close scrutiny its hues and reactions told otherwise. Its pattern of flowing throughout the seasons was recorded to be highly regular, though not even. Its timing and properties were so perfectly structured that it seemed as if another consciousness, a higher being, was controlling it to provide power throughout Frostia, but for what purpose, and to what end? Gossips became rumours, rumours became fables, and fables to legends; but it was not completely fallacious information that legends provide, for they were chromatic reflections of truth. Whispers that creatures from the surface were responsible, though this theory is greatly erroneous for the energy source was already very much active before the surface creatures had arrived. The more reliable theory was that the sources were derived from one enormous core which can be seen as "the Mother of all Smaller Cores", but there are scant evidences to support this-or any other existing theories. All in all, the cores remained a chief mystery in the world of Frostia.

The relative lacking of universal terms throughout the lands meant the energy source, though discovered already by many scholars in the Spheres, also had equally as many aliases. Some called it the liquid Aurora; others called it the Red Tail; still others gave it complex and official terms that are rarely used. For citizens of Eagle's Thorn, it was known as the Phoenix Stream. For Fantine, it was a dream. She has not forgotten how to dream. Whether or not the deepest and most secretive dreams were remarkable, laughable or both, everyone bore one even if it may not appeared so. Even Fantine.

In the Drunken Conch, there were a few private wings where customers which came in parties could relax in to themselves as they are served by sirens and fairy hostesses. Thénadier kept those types in the stable as well. These kinds of customers were mainly men of middling age whose head has begun to bald, their pouches flooding with gold. They were experienced, well-to-do, successful, proud, cynical but bawdy and eager to be pleased; when they were not jesting with the girls, they conversed among themselves paying no attention to the latter. They knew much of the world, as we had previously described. Fantine secretly listened to their talks which, though she could not grasp completely, took her to other worlds, worlds beyond her life of constriction and pain. They talked of magic from the ancient times; they talked of wars, and governments, and politicians; they talked of scholars, academies, machines; Leviathans of the magma, machines diving underwater, magical artifacts long lost in the most unfathomable secret hideouts. They talked of a healing basalm that immediately cured the most deathly of diseases and bad memories, which was only secreted by the Grand Arbotix, a single tree that grew at the end of the skies; they spoke of the respected and famous Crunions of old; they talked of all the lands of Frostia, their climates, geographic layout, fauna and flora, traditions and stories-how she loved those stories; they even spoke of Hugo, and from them Fantine learned this was the man who had almost single-handedly outlawed study of magic. They also talked of the Phoenix Stream. Most of all, they talked about the surface.

These little breaks from reality kept Fantine dreaming and kept her going. They reminded her of the times when before she was tricked into service, she had lived in a small village upon green hills that spread over a thousand miles around. She would dash down from the hills, laughing as a little girl, carried by the wings of only a child's imagination, her white blondish hair flying behind her. She came to Porthos to chance her fortune, admired its stadium, and particularly enjoyed watching the brave and skillful warriors fighting lions below on the stage, furious arms swashing like Hercules, swords reflecting the twilight. How exciting a life that would be to fight and defend for justice! She dreamed then; she fantasized. She loved and was betrayed. Even as of now, even if she is not happy, a few drops of imaginative blood still remained pulsing in her heart. Gradually two wishful seeds sunk and rooted in her mind: one was to travel the world and record her own journey on the strange things that she would see and discover; the other was to search for Hugo.

People spoke badly of him, but she has seen many things that would've drove a man mad. She had nothing to live for and everything to gain from him. They said he came from the surface where the Grand Arbotix tree took its root. He would surely know something about its basalm, the chances increased as he is an intelligent Alchemist; once she got her hands on them, Fantine would use them to erase all the bad memories that jarred into her mind, and live into the life she deserved to have.

That was the plan, anyway, but what she needed the most was money to make it come to fruition. When Thénadier first discovered her stocked treasury, he whisked them all away, making sure that she had no chances to break the contract, for contract by magic was a natural magic that was exceptionally allowed. These days she was more careful. Everything she owned was in her arms as of now: besides her common-looking skirt, a linen handkerchief bordered with tiny sequins, a ceramic toy bird and a silver manacle-all customer "gifts" they called them, as if they expected her to keep the wretched things as souvenirs. There was only one thing that she wanted to keep: money. When Thénadier went to bed during daybreak, she alone would gather all the little tips she made and run to Montparnasse's Pawnshop. There she would get what she need.

Presently she was running in a blaze, till she saw a police inspector coming to her direction. He had no horse, but his austere uniform and rigid figure was already enough to alarm the citizens of his impeding presence. To avoid questioning of her bare feet and strange preference of time to walk, Fantine jumped up and crawled onto a stack of barrels behind the wall in front of her, then climbed into the adjacent window that led into the dumphouse. She went out from the back door, hopping over a mud puddle that was beginning to concentrate in the room, and exited to a new street. She had escaped the officer's attention.

Albert, the shop clerk, was unlocking the pawnshop window at this hour. When he saw the familiar pale shadow in prostitutes' attire approach the shop stepping on dawn airs, he beamed and his gold canine sparkled, for it meant the little nymph had come to do her business again.

Fantine went up to his window, laid down everything save the skirt, then crossed her arms, pretending to be more authoritative than she was. Albert causally looked over the items, examining them with delicacy, first giving a price for the handkerchief: "I give you ten Jewels." They settled for thirteen.

Then came the bird. "Thirty, at most." Twenty-six it was done.

When Albert's spidery fingers next took the silver manacle, he looked over it like any other. It seemed an object of good craft, an uncommon yet by no means faultless accessory. However, when he looked to its lining, he saw a small logo inked upon of a dull maroon colour, which will not doubt impair the price if it was not a designated imprint; he read the logo to examine its artistry, and saw that it was a circle bordering an eight-petal flower, four great cardinal and four smaller ordinal petals, each with a word folded within the petal shape. It had read from clockwise direction throughout the cardinal petals:

_**Nigredo**_

**_Albedo_**

**_Citrinitas_**

**_Rubedo_**

The smaller petals read:

_**Ele**_

**_Necro_**

**_Alch_**

**_Temp_**

Around the circumference of the border was a sentence carved in Gothic fashion:

**In Memory of Great Magic**

Albert nearly dropped the manacle, his face stark white. He quickly put on a monocle, sat down and examined the item head to toe. At the tip of the manacle he found a slot shaped like a crux, but nothing else seemed peculiar. Fantine was still crossing her arms, regarding him.

"Well?"

"Where did you get this?"

Fantine laughed. "Where else?"

Albert took off his lens and gave it back to her: "I'm offering sixty Jewels, but I'd blackmail the person who gave it to you if it were me."

"Why?"

"It's illegal. Magic item."

"Oooooh, sounds fascinating." Fantine sighed: "It's so beautiful though. Can you imagine anything beautiful like that being illegal? Well, whatever happenings, I don't think I could blackmail him."

"Is the person of high standing?"

"Yes, unfortunately, and I can't write. Well, sixty Jewels it is then, if you'll please..."

Albert made a number with his abacus and pushed the triangular button. From a slot on the abacus frame, a ticket was printed with the words handkerchief, toy bird, manacle and the number 99 stamped on it. Albert took the ticket and inserted it into the depository machine behind him; it spat out some gold pieces, which he collected and weighed before he had Fantine sign the account book. Fantine did so, and then swept the gold into a velvet pouch, tightening it with a yellow rope. Lastly she thanked Albert and left hastily. There was another place to go to; a compartment in the near-outskirts of the city, somewhat worn down by impoverishes, unattended renewal and a row of withered Wanted Posters with the names: _Hugo the Alchemist, Needle Atina, Kabeilna the Cracked _and _Mad Joe_ etc. pasted on its walls.

Anita the deaf tailoress lived in these compartments, her yard blowing with dyed cotton blankets hanging on the clothesline, almost shielding her den from view. Fantine entered. She would, in the past, routinely get Anita to sew a hidden pocket on her ragged skirt to place the newly earned gold into; then she'll pay Anita for her services by Jewels and listening to her ramble about the days of her youth. This morning was no different, save the old tailoress was growing senile and had Fantine boil the porridge for her as an extra favour. Fantine did as she demanded, but somewhat sourly as she had no high opinion of cooking. Yet though Anita was deaf and slow, her hand had not lost its delicacy, and the pocket was done so camouflaged with the rag it was impossible to tell by glance. The handiwork pleased Fantine in the end and she gave Anita an extra gold piece from her pocket, then walked out with a new spring in her step not caring to look back to see if she had left anything behind.

Porthos was starting to stir in the morn; crowds had lined up in front of cafeterias to collect food rations, and the curtains and shutters were being drawn back by sleepy maids. Fantine, who was heading to Drunken Conch before Thénadier could notice that she was gone, crossed into an alleyway in a good mood, when, whoosh! -like the wind two horses flew past, spilling her dress with mud. She looked down at the ruined skirt.

"Curse ye fools, you dare to mess with my clothes?" Fantine screamed behind them, but the riders had already vanished past several streets.

Lord Marius Pontmercy whipped his horsewhip speedily, sweat beading on his forehead. His tongue tip was ice cold as he was in too much fervour to stop panting like a dog. His assistant Gavroche looked back behind them searching for the source of the curse, and called out: "Lord Marius, I think that lady was speaking to us!"

"Don't worry about that, we're late, you stupid ass!"

"I don't care, next time we see her we've got to make up for whatever we did!"

"We won't see her again!"

Marius barely finished the sentence when he pulled in his reins so abruptly that his steed's front hooves kicked the air for a mad two seconds before pivoting a turn; Gavroche followed, nearly colliding into a lady's cart but dodged it by a hair. The coachman stopped the cart to turn and curse them as well. Gavroche heard it not this time, and galloped his horse close to Marius'.

"I think I know the lady! Her dress—"

There was no response. The two stopped at an inn, which by the looks of it, carried quite a full stable and courses of carriages. Marius flew off his horse and bust through the inn doors. Gavroche also stopped and grasped the horses' reins, feeling embarrassed for the ruckus his master caused but all the same a childish glee for this chaos. Chaos it was. Madame Thénadier had heard the noise in the streets and was looking outside her window when she jumped at Marius' entrance, and instinctively looked for a weapon to defend herself. Upon viewing Marius up close, however, she recognized him, and wavered forth again:

"Quite the ruckus you've caused outside, Lord Pontmercy!"

Marius took her extended hand and bowed slightly: "Madame." He let go of the undesirable hand rather quickly. Madame Thénadier cursed him in her heart, and smiled:

"I never got guests this...well, early! Ha hmm!" She emphasized the world "early" in a sarcastic manner, but Marius took no interest.

"You still kept the Mermaid's Rock for Lord Marius Pontmercy?"

"Ah, no, unfortunately...you see I was expecting you yestermorning...and last night two gentlemen took the room already, seeing as you weren't here. I still have a room on the fourth floor, the White Peacock, if you'd like. Since you are a special guest wary of travels, I'll give it to you for two hundred Jewels only. What says my Lord?"

Marius grumbled. "Fine, fine, beggars can choose not. I want to go to the room now, though; give the key to my assistant Gavroche and let him in the stables to water the horses, take the luggage in, then come up and serve me breakfast."

Marius then went over to the lounge, whose hearth was already out of fire for hours. A drunk was sleeping on the most comfortable seal-skin couch, so Marius only lied down on the heather-spun chair next to it, his hands folded; on his leather gloves were a pair of knuckle-guards made seemingly more for adorning purposes rather than protective ones. They were basically chains encircling the palm, stringing several rings through, each ring embellishing a knuckle on Marius' hands. Marius had bought them in a market, calling them "Trinity" and oddly valuing them above his paladin's sword. Presently he patted Trinity fondly and closed his eyes, not paying any attention to the conversation taking place outside between Madame Thénadier and Gavroche, which was composed of two sentences: "Hullo, mother" and "Take the horses in, you silly boy".

After Madame Thénadier had done every task Marius demanded, Gavroche came down and told him that the room was set up. Lord Marius moved himself to the room above immediately in case any inn guests should come down and see the young Lord in such a disastrous state. Going into the White Peacock he took off his boots, which were soiled with night's dew and mud grasses, and told Gavroche to put them outside in the halls. Later in the hour Éponine came up, still half asleep, and served him with a washing basin, a mirror, stick of toothbrush, a towel and a comb, then taking the dirty boots he put outside for washing. When Marius finished the morning hassle Azelma served him the rolls and coffee, freshly baked and brewed while removing the used basins and towels. Marius proceeded to eat and drink, calming a little, not feeling as flushed as earlier. Madame Thénadier was, after all, quite known for besides her gossiping tongue, her cooking...

...Along with her massages, which soon she heaved herself up the stairs to come and offer him one. Perhaps she felt sorry she had slighted a guest as important as he. Marius refused, but kept her in the room to get out of her the latest news. Gavroche pretended to be preoccupied with rearranging flowers in his hat, but was secretly listening as well, knowing full well what his master would inquire.

"Your business is not slow," began Marius. "Surely you know everything around in Porthos. How goes the Baltics? Any daughters chosen to sit up front?"

Madame Thénadier recounted exactly what she told Lord Tholomyès the night before. Marius listened rather quietly throughout, and when she was done, interjected: "What of Lady Cosette?"

Bull's-eye.

Madame Thénadier gasped a little too prudishly. "Everybody knows the royal engagement to Prince Aezean..."

Marius looked up at her in astonishment. "She's engaged? Already?"

"Well, all in good time, my lord, all in good time. A lot of young good noble fellows had their eyes on her, but nobody can compete with a Prince, can they? Even if he isn't the heir apparent."

A grin slowly spread across Lord Marius' face. "Great news! Did you hear of it, Gavroche?"

"Afraid not." Gavroche answered simply.

"Damn, we must be the last two to hear about his. I'm ashamed most of all-her own sworn brother, not knowing anything about this! Here I was getting a bad temper over some mud on my boots! My sister's going to be crowned a princess-ridiculous."

He spread his fingers over his forehead and leaned back on the bed, evidently in a state of delight, but bolted up again-"I must see her-send her my blessings, congratulations-etc. ...have you got quill and papers?"

"Ahem."

"Right."

Marius took out a tiny gold chip and thrust it into Madame Thénadier's hands with a look of solemn expectation. She gazed him a sullen gaze at such a pathetic tip, then went down and sent Éponine up to deliver some old parchment, ink and a nearly split-ended goose feather quill. Gavroche simpered: "The old moneybag" while Marius held no objections. He propped himself onto the writing desk and thought of many words to write; with Cosette words came easily for him, till he ran out of Madame Thénadier's cheap ink, although he had already written a full page within a few minutes. Marius felt it was still not enough to project his feelings, but rolled it up all the same sticking a branch of Wintersweet with the letter, and sent Gravroche to deliver it to the Baltic mansion. The latter carefully placed the parchment into his coat pocket, bowed and whispered: "You're not really happy, are you?"

"Go on," said the master.

Gavroche left.

Marius started pacing around the room. He was, at last, left to his own company, and the grin faltered from his lips. Coincidentally at this moment, drums and marching music began to sound outside the inn window, which hanged open at the time. To foil his mood further, he heard rushes of people streaming like the Crescent Canyon River onto these silly streets of asphalt, necks stretched as outrunners came up to them shouting: "Make way for the Exalted Majesties, Head of Secular and Sacred Offices, King Niür and Queen Valerie of Minor Frostia!"

Marius groaned and fell into bed. He put a pillow over his head, hoping to block out the trumpets, horns and blasphemous snares.

"Make way for His Eminent Excellency Prince Lithaniel and Governor of Northern Tarcia!"

Hearing this, Marius knit his eyebrows, searching for in his memories of what he heard recently of the scandalous prince. Lithan's incestuous affair with his mother Queen Zansha was discovered; consequently the former king had put the queen to death and exiled the heir apparent. What in bloody hell was King Niür doing together with his brother in public and recovering the latter's title? Had he somehow been so busy getting to Porthos for the past day that he missed a royal reconciliation?

Before he could sort anything out of this, the next set of outrunners had come into the streets: "Make way for His Graceful Excellency Prince Aezean!"

Marius jumped up, put on a pair of spare leather boots, grasped the window sill and swung himself onto the inn's roof. He had not missed the parade of royalty by too great a deal. The King and Queen were inside a flamboyantly decorated carriage. The two princes escorted the carriage on the right and left, seated each a tall and handsome stallion. Marius crouched, like a tiger, and carefully moved forward to look upon the visage of Lady Cosette's fiancée. Though he could not have differed which of the two princes was the one immediately, the one on the right appeared much older and brooding, with ragged black hair drooping past his shoulders, and that must be Prince Lithaniel; the one on the left was younger, having an aura of unmistakable light-heartedness. He was a rather pretty boy, with features more pleasing than graceful or remarkably handsome. There was a slyness to his eyes which Marius found repulsive; he continued to ride on his horse bouncing this way and that way, looking proud all the same, not caring an ounce of his respectability, and every last second Marius kept his eyes on him produced more intense dislike. As the main parade passed him with a few more men of importance trailing behind the carriage coming into public sight, Marius shook his head and muttered: "Oh! Poor Cosette!"

Something cold and sharp poked him in the back.

Marius turned and saw a masked man standing behind him on the roof, a sword in the latter's hand pointing at him.

With one swish Marius drew his blade and knocked the stranger's back; both their grasps shook with the clash. It seems the stranger did not expect Marius to counter, and wobbled backwards unsteady; Marius saw his chance and dashed forward, performing a shoulder swing with his sword. The stranger dodged to the right, dropped and rolled left towards him. Marius pivoted halfway and sliced downwards, ready to cut the intruder in half, but the latter parried his slice, and butted Marius in the kneecaps. Messy peals of blades sounded as both crumpled to the rooftop and the stranger was about to press his sword on Marius' throat when with a flick of white light, Marius' claws had already reached his. Each ring from Trinity had unsheathed a curved blade, which formed the claws on Marius' hand, simmering with cold victory. The stranger looked at Marius, and then began to laugh.

"I'd forgotten! Your secret weapon!"

Marius did not expect this, and for a moment knew not what to do. The stranger took initiative and gently unmasked himself. Surprise turned to jolliness; a laugh burst out of the young Lord when he saw the familiar face. Marius cried: "Courfeyrac!" and they embraced each other warmly. The royal parade at this point was nearly done; some remaining street folk had froze to watch the sword fight on the roof with open mouths as Marius helped his old friend up.

Courfeyrac winced slightly, and half-joked: "You do act fast, you noble."

Marius felt rather regretful that he had almost hurt a friend, and replied: "Come you to my chamber? Let us not stand here like spectacles."

The unexpected visitor shrugged:

"YOU be the spectacle, no one recognizes me in these parts. I come to the paladin stadium, but it appears one must pay one's way in. You know my father, he'd never give me more than a handful of Jewels. By the looks of it I must go back having accomplished nothing."

"I can lend you some money, if you'd like."

Hearing this, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, extending his sword in an inviting curtsey; Marius paused, and then reached down to retrieve some gold pieces to place on the sword blade. Courfeyrac, however, suddenly withdrew his sword and performed a swishing cœur-de-fleur before sheathing the blade as if it were lightning: "I'm not so desperate for the competition. I'm more concerned about you, though. That little lady you had, of the Baltics? I heard she's marrying that Prince-"

"I know." Marius cut him off, simultaneously throwing his hands up. "Come here, get my paladin's title, and ask for her hand in marriage, my foot! She's already engaged to-to that dandy! I don't know what she did to deserve this!"

Letting down his arms and crossing them, he walked closer to the roof edge, staring transfixed at the spot where Prince Aezean had paraded past. Courfeyrac walked up to him and patted his friends' shoulder. "Not all loves end fulfilled," he said gravely.

Marius sighed, and looked at Courfeyrac: "Enough of these talks; we'll find some way to get through thick and thin. How'd you climb up here, by and by?"

Courfeyrac grinned: "I'm living next door to you."

The shutters of the room adjacent to the White Peacock was also wide open, and sputtered in the morning wind, banging on the inn walls weakly. Marius marvelled at this fortune, and invited Courfeyrac over to dinner. In the meantime both said their farewells and climbed back into their respective rooms, Marius already forgetting his joy on meeting Courfeyrac the second he landed back under the inn's roof. He went to the bed, held his knees together, and sulked, thinking of Prince Aezean and Lady Cosette. In this childish composure he remained for nearly half an hour.

Meanwhile Gavroche, who was delivering the letter, was all well; though he felt sorry for  
Lord Marius, and hated Madame Thénadier for being such a heartless gossip that even his master must pretend to be happy on an occasion that truthfully crushed his heart. But he was a boy, not too old, not too little, just thirteen or fourteen years of age, and knew little of sorrow. Soon he was whistling as he jostled on his errand, thinking of nothing else but all things that were carefree.

Unfortunately when he reached the Baltic mansion, it was in a state of business for the arrival of royalty. Lord Baltic was a little flustered at being unable to finish the mansion wholly before their Majesties' arrival, however most of the construction was on time and there was a good portion completed that their special guests may relax in. There was such a huge gathering on the streets outside of the mansion, layer upon layer like some posh cake, that Gavroche was unable to even make it through the outer walls of guards. The humanoid metal cans shouted at him to roll off and jabbed their spears arrogantly, so he had to get to the side to prevent further rejection. Yet by misfortune's compromise he also saw of Lady Cosette's silhouette that had appeared behind the windows on the highest floor of the Baltic mansion. The curtains half hid her face, but even from this distance he could see a radiating face of beauty, framed by curls of a white blonde colour that almost appeared glowing.

"So that is where her room is!" Thought Gavroche, intending more than ever to complete the delivery. To finish the mission, he, the artful dodger, snuck around the crowd gathering at the front and headed to the side. Once he made sure no one was spying in his direction, he climbed up the Camilla tree blooming outside a lonely wall, and leaped onto the lower leves of the main house. He was concealed well within the shadows, and thus began his climb. His nimble limbs took him high swiftly, while he also prayed that Lady Cosette would still be in her room when he reached it. Ascended to the top of the mansion, his prayers seem to have been heard; King Niür and Queen Valerie were getting out of their coach, their guards taking position outside Baltic walls, the great heaps of their luggage just beginning to be loaded by sweaty footmen, their horses being treated, and Cosette's shadow was still visible behind the curtains. A last ridge he swung over, popping his head out carefully at the chamber.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed as if Cosette had just woken up, for her hair was not properly coiffeur'd, and she was all alone in the room. Gavroche rejoiced at his luck, and knocked on the window. His actions drew an alarming cry from the lady, who covered her face and sought to draw the curtains. Gavroche was prepared, however, and held up his master's letter, mouthing the words: "Lord Marius".

Cosette recognized him within a few moments, and turned to unlocking the windows, murmuring softly: "Please, do come in lest you fall." While Gavroche complied more than happily, a loud drum's knock had sounded at Cosette's door at the precise moment. This sent both into a frantic, and Cosette instinctively pushed Gavroche under her bed before answering the door. It was her nurse Fronsac who burst in, and seeing Cosette's window open, cried with her toady mouth:

"Close the windows, close the windows, my lady! It is unfit for you to be seen by commoners!"

Not waiting for Cosette to take action, the nurse hurried forth and proceeded to shut them herself. She then swiveled to examine Cosette's figure, and though pleased with the girl's youth and beauty, was provoked by her lateness in waking, and rocketed herself into a fit of rambling:

"Have you not been sent to by Lilia? The hour is late and the Princes have arrived! It will be slow for them to get in, but all the same, if your father should summon you, he will fault it to me for not preparing you earlier. Sit down in front of the mirror and let me make your hair."

Fronsac pushed Cosette backward, but Cosette had placed Marius' letter on the desk in plain view, and to prevent it from being seen and taken she stopped the nurse: "No, no, get Lilia and Sylvia to come and do my hair, good nurse, get those two for me."

Though Fronsac protested, she was at the moment summoned by another servant to Lady Zephine's call, and thus grudgingly left, agreeing to her task. When the room was empty, Cosette closed the door and helped the secret messenger out, smiling: "Oh, who'd have ever thought it was you, Gavroche! The sky messenger delivering letters from clouds above! You had quite startled me. Is Lord Marius treating you well?"

"Gladly I can answer yes, my lady," Gavroche replied, and stood by as Cosette opened the letter. "I had much to complain about living with my troll parents anyway, and though Lord Marius is a spoiled brat himself, I'd rather drink to his health that I may continue to follow him."

Cosette nodded and began to read Marius' letter. Gavroche looked around at Cosette's room, and everything he saw made him admire the young lady's taste for quietude. The room was hardly grand or embellishing; the bed, however, was constructed of white oak wood from a famous hand it seems, the coverlet properly fumed, and nothing else remarkable in the room. Of course there was a dresser and cabinet, and also a plain writing desk with a vase of Lavenders upon it. The post of the bed was secured a quiver which was filled with wild Mistletoes. Gavroche nodded to himself, then turned to look at the lady's reaction to the letter.

She had smiled when she read "My dearest sworn sister…" etc. The contents of the letter were filled with casual talk, of Marius' recent promotion, his journey and arrival to Porthos, his family's state back in Bethel, and only in the middle did the sender begin to tell of his rejoice at her impending marriage. Cosette's eyes dulled at these words, as if these blessings had crossed her. She had read up to three-quarters when Lilia and Sylvia knocked at the door, waiting to enter, and Cosette quickly excused herself for a brief moment before she instructed Gavroche: "This place is not good to stay; I have much to write, myself. Go down and dwell in a nearby street called Plummet, and by the time I am finished with this deed I shall send my letter over by a maid which you may well deliver to your master."

Gavroche nodded, and climbed out the window again; Cosette then hid the letter along with the flower branch in between her bed's mattress and frame, and allowed the maids in. They detected no oddity, setting forth to dress Cosette as usual, putting in extra effort as they were grateful that she selected them over Fronsac. They tied Cosette's hair into a nicely curled chignon, tightened her corset and adjusted the bell sleeves of the white satin dress. Some light makeup she put on before going out to her father's call by Fronsac, still in a touchy mood that Cosette brushed her away so hurriedly.

The socializing was arduous; there were quite a few ministers and vicars present, no doubt all had come to Porthos when they were notified that the king and queen would be present; the queen was pale faced, tall and plump, and looked rather wilted, her silvery hair concealed elegantly by her crown. The king looked pleasant but his eyes found it straining of focusing, perhaps suggesting over-indulgence. His son, Prince Aezean, looked his father's reflection, and his elder brother Prince Lithan came after them quietly, scarcely moving his lips, but retained a decent diplomatic approach. There was one conciliator, one minister and a general who came with them, but no one else of importance. Cosette welcomed them all as best as she could as the second mistress of the house, and were followed in introduction by Dahlia and Zephine. The servants peeked through the door cracks and stairs, trying to grasp a look, and turned away their gazes with slight distaste that royalty could appear so common.

Cosette would've liked to leave after the meeting to get back to her letter with Marius, but her father refused to dismiss her and had her follow her mother around like a puppet. She secretly examined her future fiancée; of course he was, though a young man, much older than herself. He looked at her with some interest in the beginning, but did not talk to her again till they had gone to the brunch. The Luxembourg Court, newly constructed and humoured by good weather, was of course the choice place to have the meal in. An open courtyard roofed only by grape vine'd trelliswork and partially by a lilac and chestnut themed pavilion was where they settled down to relax. A small stream was dug to run through the courtyard, which besides having bushes, trees and other lush greenery was highlighted by delicate Honeysuckles, Jasmines and Plum blossoms running along the banks; its waters ran out into a larger river outside of the Court that could carry boats past the waving Wisterias and Willows. As they settled down to be served with glass bowls and Chinese plates of cool spring delicacies and nectar on the side, Cosette and Prince Aezean sat near the rectangular pool cut of zircon and granite, and conversed. He was always quite casual, half the times requiring her to repeat what she had just said, and seemed to be airy in nature but not unkind. If Cosette's heart was not otherwise engaged she would've done best to set her heart down and love him.

Some maids trained in song were brought in for entertainment. After a few songs and many more drinks, the king and queen decided it due to return to their chambers. Everyone stood up, even the princes, and the couple was escorted back primarily by the latters, personal attendants and guards captains. The other important guests remained, and so Lord Baltic entertained them while Lady Baltic showed the others to their rooms. Lord Baltic was pleased with Cosette's performance with Prince Aezean, and since the latter had retired, he finally allowed her to do the same. Cosette proceeded upstairs, and, fearing Gavroche would be getting tired of waiting, penned the reply letter as swift as she was capable of:

_To my good brother Lord Marius:_

_I apologize beforehand that I am unable to write a longer and more agreeable letter. You have not chosen the greatest of days to letter me, for royal company is among our household, and all is much in an uproar, perhaps due to me. You have heard of the impending engagement, then. It is an unfortunate circumstance that my heart is, at the present, not bent towards marriage with anyone save for one; had you not sent that earlier letter to me informing of your intention to propose to my father, and had not my prayers for your endeavours and love for you been multiplying in great folds everyday, I would not be in such turmoil. For my hopes are now grown too strong and too inclined to you alone; my heart belongs but to you and I cannot bear to give it to anyone else—and what is marriage if my heart should be preoccupied by another?_

_I write this in a fret, for my father has not heard from you for some time, and he intends on accepting the king's engagement; I fear for you lest our connection be discovered. Unless my Lord had intended on seeding my mind with false hopes and expectations, please, let your next letter speak not of love or other sweet promises or insincere congratulations, and let them be news of your plans. You must leave me with my blessings and let me to love my husband, or some other intention that will help us unite in nuptial bliss. If it should be the latter, rest assured I am willing to follow you to the ends of Frostia what comes of your scheme. Till then, dear Lord, I await your word!_

_ Your Love,_

_ Cosette_

It was by good habit that she was able to have a rose-red paper in stock for this letter, but having no particular flower ready, she spontaneously took a lavender branch from her vase and tied it in; the branch was still wet with water, and a few cold drops tainted the rose parchment like blood. This stirred her heart, but she restrained herself and called for her favourite handmaid Frost. She came in, the energetic and lively girl, and when her mistress instructed her to give it to a boy pacing in the Plummet's, she listened with full attentiveness and was entrusted with the letter.

Once the maid was gone, Cosette shut her room door and removed her hair pins and corsets. Soft flaxes of hair was let down, and she was herself again. The house, at last, was left to some peace since the coming, the clock outside just striking mid-day. Cosette heaved a sigh, sat down in front of her mirror, and tied a love knot in her hair, contemplating. What if Frost could not find Gavroche, or if he had already left? Or worse—perhaps Marius had decided that it was too risky to continue the courtship and was set on leaving Porthos altogether. This is unlikely, and though it would mean Marius is a coward and not worthy of her hand, Cosette was still afraid to hear his leaving.

She felt sicker every hour that passed without news of Marius; alas, the disease of love! It was impossible to get rid of. The lady then took to bed and reread Marius' letter for a temporary cure. His handwriting was of a delicate style, but had strong letter prints, which made her feel warm and safe as she read.

Perusing it thrice through, she had ingested every last word of her true love; then taking the stick of Wintersweet he had sent her, she put it to her glowing cheeks. Rains of teardrops fell unto the branch as she thought of her uncertain fate, and could but look to the windows hoping for another letter from the clouds.


	3. Chapter III - Double Dopplegängers

**Chapter III **- _Double Dopplegängers_

When Frost arrived at Plummet's, she found Gavroche with little difficulty and delivered the letter to him. Thinking that he might have another reply to give to her mistress before the end of the day, she whispered to him: "The mansion is watched closely; if you have something to give, tell the guards at the front that you are giving the letter to Frost, and they might let you in. I myself will also be at the Market during the afternoon, before the evening ball, that is." Gavroche thanked the kind maid and gave her a gold piece.

Cosette's letter and Gavroche's description of the Lady, when delivered back and made known to Marius, sent him into a state of great fretfulness, and shame that he had doubted her, even if only in slight. What disturbed him further is the due fact that the Festival is taking place only tomorrow, and certainly before nightfall King Niür will see to it that the desired betrothal be sealed. Gavroche was in fret too, though his mind was turning furiously to engage a possible plan; it seems, eventually, a rough, hazy vision had settled within him, though he was still hesitating to say it. Marius' head was not as clear; he was dizzy and losing containment, and thought of a thousand plans in a second, all of them ridiculous and unattainable, and he also kept thinking back to pledging to his grandfather for help-if only the old man was not quite so far away at this moment. He thus forgot to check and prepare his paladin equipment until Gavroche reminded him. All of them were his best, a set of highly sought after crafts of arms and armour, as a sign that Marius' grandfather indeed spoiled him. Yet they all seem to be pointless now; Marius regretted not having proposed earlier. Though the Pontmercy family was ten times more rich than respectable, at least there was still a chance. Now though he could make do with his paladin title, there is, as Madame Thénadier had said, no competing with a Prince.

He then spent some minutes in drowsiness and emotional misery, reading and rereading Cosette's letter, and began to order Madame Thénadier's Papaya Mead excessively (to the delight of the latter). Such indulgence hardly seem necessary, and Gavroche finally felt it was inevitable to step in and remind Marius that all is not lost. He told Marius of a plan he thought of, having been reminded of the prostitute they ran into earlier, possibly from his father's brothel. Marius paid little attention at first, unwilling to take the risks, but was comforted when Gavroche assured him that he alone would do the risky operation, and his master just needs follow him. After a while of persuading, Marius decided, at last, that even if love for Cosette could not move him, her love and remembrance of his promise ought to be met with honour to the very least. So he permitted Gavroche to messenger his reply letter to Cosette which gave details of Gavroche's plan, and waited for the lady's final reply:

_My Lady Cosette:_

_I am ever in sincere regret and shame that I should have doubted your fidelity for even a second. Indeed what you give me is more than that, for I would not blame you if you chose a man of royal connections over me. I have nothing to offer you, except the easily acquired material security and a heart of true love, which is infinitely less than the happiness you have granted me in your firm confidence. Since my lady have made it so clear that marriage be her purpose, I kiss thy hand in tears, not for rejoice alone, but fear as well. Gavroche had come up with an indecent plan which would bring your respectability to ruins, something I never would've permitted otherwise, if it did not achieve the aim of ultimate requite. I am afraid this plan would bring shock and grief to you if I should speak it plainly; even I am not indifferent to it when he first tried to persuade me, but I agreed out of the sole consider that I ought to give you a reasonable reply. Attached is a note which you should give to you_r _trusted handmaiden, Frost, and therein I will account to her all the details of the plan and you shall receive minimum involvement. If you must know, talk to the loyal handmaiden, and she will let you know all that you can. My servant Gavroche is also to be executing other tasks to cooperate with your Frost. If you agree to it, and would not consider a moment to surrender all comfort, honour and prospects to follow a poor paladin, then send me an item of your will, that I may keep as a sign of your immeasurable love._

_Your Undeserved Love,_

M. P.

Marius, finishing the letter, breathed in deeply; then he suddenly snatched it up as if by impulsive resolve, shoved it into Gavroche's hands, and shuddered, feeling the way ahead of him hazardous and foreboding. Yet the thought of Cosette's faith in him calmed him a little, and he gathered enough strength to giving Gavroche the gold, and warning him not to take up more frivolity than needed.

Petit Gravroche took up his slingshot, his bag of Jewels and the letter, and headed to the Market first. Upon not seeing anyone from the Baltics in there, he went to the mansion himself. The guards were very unpleasant until Gavroche bribed them each a tint of gold, stating rather firmly that he came for Frost only, so they escorted him to the kitchen to meet her. Many people, servants, as it would seem, hurried in an out of the passageways and halls of the mansion, holding plates and cups or laundry baskets to be cleansed or refilled. Even the lowliest ranked servants were wearing good linen robes hemmed at ankles locked with silver anklets, from where then on they were quite bare. Upper slave supervisors, wearing golden circlets and bear hide shoulder guards, were limited in duties to patrolling the house, barking at the choring servants when they tasked too slowly, and occasionally leaving due to the calling of a master. The main kitchen, as Gavroche passed it, was bustling with activity; many were heading in to dispose of some exotic leftovers such as Phoenix livers or roasted Peacocks from the lucheon, though the vision range inside the kitchen was crippled due to the excessive smoke and teary spices. The guards then took Gavroche into a small side kitchen that appeared to be where servants prepared meals for servants. Frost was in there, grinding rinds and quite alone, save for another deaf old man who was preparing the fish noisily. Gavroche proceeded to give the ordinary looking letter to Frost, and she took it with no signs of excitement or shock, as if it was just another plain call from home. Before he left, she whispered to him: "Wait for me in the Market where they sell melons". The deaf chef, now busy grilling his fish, had such a noisy pot going that the conversing guards did not catch the whisper through all the sizzling.

Gavroche obeyed, exiting the Baltic mansion, now fully aware that there was no turning back to his plans. The danger, for some reason, excited him. Waiting at the melon market though was a bore, and he was tempted to buy some freshly imported apples ere Frost appeared within his sight. Her attire was decent, for she had worn puffy red cotton shrouds neatly tied in at her joints by ropes of silk, which were dangling with yellow and green diamonds, shaking in shines as she walked. She had also worn a veil, and carried a lambskin sack on her back. It is clear that she is a young slave of some rich family sent out to buy new food stocks, but nothing gave her hidden identity away. Approaching Gavroche and passing him almost like a stranger, she slipped him a cold item, which Gavroche guessed with correctness, that the item was from Lady Cosette.

It was a small and well crafted Orchid hairpin. The flower was made of pink Sapphire, the calyx smelted of Lapis Lazuli and gilded with tiny Opals. Gavroche much more admired the handicraft, while Lord Marius wept at the thought of its owner, whose beauty outshone the pin by a thousandfold. His hesitancy slowly washed away at the thought that their fates are now near solidified, and neither could step down now from vows of sworn love. With the sign of compliance he received from his lady love, Marius sent Gavroche for the next important errand, and at this point all operations were, indeed, in operation.

Petit Gavroche then set off to the Drunken Conch, to complete the second part of the mission. When he got there, however, he was passed by a very angry looking gentleman with a scratch mark on his cheekbone that he had taken care to cover as much as possible with his scarf, and the inside of the pleasure house is sounding like havoc. Gavroche's cheat tightened, and he couldn't help but gulp in nervousness.

Thénadier inside had tied Fantine's hands to a steam pipe, stripped her naked and was whipping her like a piñata: "You bitch! You think you're the victim one, eh? Think-you're-good-little-girl? Too good-to come-down-"

Fantine gritted her teeth and said nothing, letting him beat her as though she was a lifeless doll, but still flinched and cried every time he brought down the harsh stinger. The other girls stood around, all frozen and watching. Dahlia looked frightened, while Zephine looked pleased. Within the bathroom, a tumbled basin was lying on its side, its waters all spilled onto the floor, looking like a helpless animal.

As all of this was happening Gavroche entered, putting one foot into the entrance. As if on cue, several older girls rushed forth and clustered around the door, smiling and beckoning him, effectively obscuring the less than pleasant scene behind. Thénadier had thought it was another customer, as he quickly threw his whip away and dashed to the door himself, prepared to give welcome; but when he saw it was only Gavroche, his face sagged, and he spat on the ground.

"Hullo, papa," said Gavroche, as bleakly as he could.

Disappointed and piqued whispers flooded throughout he female crowd. Thénadier waved them all quiet, and cried: "What in the blazes are you all doing here cloistered? Do you think this is a spa? We have business!" The girls then fearfully dispersed without a sound. Thénadier next turned to Gavroche.

"So, you came back, eh? After running off by yourself and getting into a paying position, spending all your time with the upper crusties, leaving your mother who's worried to illness and your poor sisters to the despise of people! You don't even send any money to your family and leave us in destitution while you climb up the social ladder...well...that's just my boy!"

He clutched his bad thigh and laughed.

"You're a bastard," retorted Gavroche, glimpsing at Fantine who is now sagging on the steam pipe, unable to support herself, and her skin lashed with whip marks.

Thénadier, in turn, looked at Gavroche from head to toe, staring at his son's reasonably pricy attire hungrily. A moment later, he opened his mouth and gurgled before he spoke: "Well, it isn't the rush yet. Whatever you have to say, say it quickly and end it. I have a business to run."

He looked for signs that Gavroche might be coming to give him gold. Gavroche looked at Fantine's back, and replied: "Give her some clothes, papa."

"Give her some clothes?!" Thénadier boomed. "Who in the deuce do you think you are? I am her master, I decide what to do with her! Do you know why I am punishing her, you little brat?! (Gavroche clutched his dagger defensively as Thénadier's voice crescendoed) I told her she was dirty like a snail fresh out of the dirt. She just bathed! Does she expect me to pay relentlessly for her upkeep and then toss it into the furnace for no point? She went to bathe, yes, because M. Bamatabois is coming and I want all my mares, clean and pretty, to be choiced. The dirty mare went into the bath-M. Bamatabois came, and of course he sat down and smoked, it was all going swimmingly and it looked like I might make myself a decent catch today, when M. Bamatabois out of curiosity went to the bathroom, while that blondie devil's whore was bathing there. He only touched her a little, and apparently it was as if he had taken a knife in to butcher her, because she screamed and pounced on him. My wretched basin's broke, and M. Bamatabois is injured, and he's off to the goddamn guards station by the looks of it, and I'm, deprived, getting arrested, sued, suffering, lost, ruined-ruined! That little beast! I dragged her out to TEACH A BLOODY LESSON! Now give me an equally bloody well reason why I should give her clothes."

"We're buying her," answered Gavroche.

An unusual chilly silence had settled over the brothel. The other girls seemed to have stopped moving. Thénadier took out a smoke and lighter, jabbed the smoke into his mouth, and with trembling hands, lit it. A fume tasting like concrete spread over Gavroche's nose.

"Right," said Thénadier. "I vie for 2000 Jewels."

"I only have 500."

Thénadier bit down on his cigarette, limped towards Fantine, untied her hands and dragged her over by the hair. Fantine screamed, and Gavroche covered his eyes. "Look, at, her!" Thénadier boomed again. "Look at her skin! Soft, white, like milk curdles. Her hair! Smooth, shining, well kept!" He grabbed a bunch of her hair and waved it in front of Gavroche, as if to prove his point. "Her teeth-look at her teeth-" he squeezed Fantine's cheeks with his metallic fingers, and her mouth opened before Gavroche- "It's like pearls in rose petals! They'd be worth more than 800 Jewels on the market, alone! You think I make it expensive when I say 2000 Jewels? The money I've wasted on her costly upkeep! If you've got only so much money, buy a female horse and bring it to your master, that's all he deserves!"

Fantine bit Thénadier on his hand. He yelped and jumped backwards, relinquishing his grasp, allowing Fantine to run away from him; her feet moved like tiny mice. Thénadier forgot about her for a moment and instead put his bitten hand into a ray of sunlight that poured in through an aperture, to see how deep the wound was. Gavroche felt disgusted, but it seems he had come on a bad day. Just as he planned to think of another way to save Cosette, Fantine came back in, her body now covered with a towel, and in her arms laid an old ragged skirt. She stepped heavily towards Thénadier, who looked shocked before her sudden aura of determination. She placed the skirt on the counter, reached in and ripped something; when she took her hand out again, there was a pile of gold in her palms. Everyone in the room was astonished. Fantine repeated her actions and got out more and more gold, until she had a small but considerable pile before her.

"1600 something Jewels!" She shouted at Thénadier. "That's more than enough to cover the years you've taken care of me. I give it to you!"

For once she felt like she was capable of shouting back at him.

Thénadier had completely froze, with a wisp of smoke going up and clouding his eyes. Gavroche piled the gold together. "A full 2000 Jewels," a mischievous twinkle danced in the boy's eye as he looked over the scene. "Let me count it out before you."

He did so, and as he counted, Thénadier's expression became gentler and gentler as the amount escalated. It totalled to 2156 Jewels before Thénadier reaped them all, now looking like some kind old grandfather gazing lovingly at his grandchildren.

"Right...well, then, I've got nothing to say...sign here."

Thénadier snapped his fingers, and conjured up a levitating contract with a feather quill; Thénadier's signature was already on it. Gavroche took the quill, and added his own signature to the blank. Immediately the contract aspirated away, as if being burnt by invisible fires. Gavroche then put the quill back on the desk: "Pack up your things, Fantine, let's go."

Thénadier smiled at Fantine, but she returned his look with hatred. His lips moved, almost weakly:

"You-dare-"

He raised a finger to her face, his own shaking, as if he did not know whether to be angry or jolly, and instead burst out in laughter. Fantine left him again, put on a decent grey dress before coming back and muttered to Gavroche: "Let's go." Gavroche agreed fullbeartedly, and they just set out from the Drunken Conch when Thénadier shouted behind them:

"Go on, go on, you nabs! You dirty little whore! You! You'll come crawling back to me one day!"

Fantine stopped in the broad, sparkling daylight. She turned, and slowly walked back into the shadows, towards Thénadier, standing tall.

"You know, M. Thénadier," she said, "Here's what I always thought of you."

And she punted him on the kneecap, with all the strength she could muster, right on his bad leg. Thénadier howled, and cursed curses too foul to repeat after Fantine as she ran out, but he was limping badly, not capable of chase. Some girls went forth to help him up, but he pushed them away, while most others watched coldly.

Fantine escaped, feeling the heavy weighted liberty she had just acquired, but there was no happiness shown on her face, which was paler and duller than ever. She was walking so quickly that Gavroche had to try to keep up with her.

"Where are we going?" She asked, with a voice that sounded as if it had aged twenty years.

"You'll see," he told her.

Fantine nodded sombrely, and drew back her right arm sleeve. On the skin of her pulse, the previous tattoo of a conch shell with an eye on its crust is now gone, replaced by the letters "MP" drawn through by an inked Rosemary. She rolled her eyes; and suddenly, a small cool bottle had slipped into her other hand. Fantine's heart skipped a beat, but soon realized it was only Gavroche, and raised the acquired phial to her eyes. It was clear and round, swishing with dark-red herbal liquid, and corked by a purple crystal which was blooming in shapes of artful Violet clusters.

"Is this liquor?"

"It's ointment," said Gavroche. "Good for wound treatment."

"Thank you."

Fantine answered so, uncertain whether she should've shown more warmth. Indeed she felt a little ill when she saw the shop of the Old Sailor coming up, and going inside earned her suspicious gazes from the slitted eyes of Madame Thénadier sitting behind the counter. She grasped the bottle tightly, as she felt nervous having given the madame's husband a punting just minutes ago.

"Ignore her," Muttered Gavroche through his gritted teeth. They went upstairs, and Madame Thénadier looked as if she might say something but remained silent in the end.

They went up, there was a jingling of keys, and the room door opened before them; a young man was in the room, leaning on the cushions with his arm holding up his forehead, the other hand clutching some parchment. His face was pale and he appeared to have been crying. When he looked up to Gavroche and the hesitating girl coming in after him, he gaped, and got up, looked at Fantine from face to toe and feet to head, before he finally spoke up: "Are you Fantine?"

Fantine was slightly timid, but she braved herself and broadened her shoulders: "Yes, Monsieur."

Marius was still in astonishment, and turned to Gavroche: "Perfect, just too perfect. The features are noticeably different, but the build and hair is nearly identical, so if we just make sure her face does not get seen..."

Fantine knitted her eyebrows. Are those two men talking about selling her? Ah, she should've known; this tough life will not leave her so easily. Yet she felt the gift of the little bottle in her hand and felt comforted by the cold glass's increasing warmth. She would not give up. She'll find a way to get the most out of everything.

As she was contemplating, Marius put on a coat: "I'll go and talk things over with my friend. I'll rely on you to get her to the Baltic mansion."

"Good as done," smiled Gavroche, and Marius gave his assistant another grateful look before hurrying out of the doors. Gavroche took her hand; she flinched, and blood rose to her pulse, as she felt that they were about to force her into some very forbidden business.

"Fantine, follow me; and without my word, please don't put in anything out of the ordinary."

Fantine would normally be reluctant to obey such a tender boy, having known other children her age mainly through their calling names or making fun of her as she walked on the streets barefoot. Gavroche was about the same age as her, perhaps, though he would appear even younger because of belated development. Yet this tender boy had such a sincere, gentle look about him, as if he was born with rare natural kindness. It took little effort to persuade Fantine to succumb to this gentle power-at least for the temporary moment, to see if they were up to something no good.

They went on horse. Fantine a sturdy black stallion and Gavroche a cream coloured pony. She supposed this might've been Lord Marius', for she certainly felt that she did not deserve such a good horse; when she turned back to look at the inn for the last time, she saw for a moment through the window, Marius, with his arm around a young man his age, both smiling and holding a cup frothing with beer foam. She rolled her eyes and set them back onto the straight road.

When they got near the Baltic mansion, Gavroche gestured for them to stop; before them, entire streets were filled with patrols. There was such deafening music playing within the mansion that it wafted all around several blocks. It sounded like opera. Gavroche shook his head, then swung their reins and led their horses into a darker alleyway where high walls have obstructed them from the guards' views. The stink of sewers and rotten Persimmons piled high amidst the sunken pavement and leaning walls. Tall grasses and weeds had sprouted within stone cracks and feet of walls, covered with decaying wintry frosts, now blowing hazily in the Spring breezes. Some hags sitting in the sun catching fleas on their skins turned to look at the passer-bys. If they were a pair of normal rich family members Fantine and Gavroche would've looked at them with pity, but they kept looking on passively.

At last they had reached the Baltic mansion. There were few guards near the side walls, and besides no one was there in that sect of the mansion to guard anyway, so the guards were looking rather bored and a few had dozed off, the remaining ones drowsy. Gavroche had Fantine sit tight, then he set off to the lonely Camilla tree, and shook it.

Frost had been watching the signs most carefully from her mistress's window, and when she saw the Camilla tree shake, she thought: "It is time!" She put down the clothes she was folding and lifting her skirt hem, hurrying downstairs.

The Baltics were holding a huge feast in the Luxembourg Court, as per usual. It was evening and there were lit candles being placed into lilies made of feathers, which were in turn being relinquished to float in the circular pool; there were hanging lanterns of all kinds of graceful, enigmatic colours and patterns on the Rosemallow and Cane trees, but they were not bright enough to outshine a few fireflies glowing above the waters. The royals were seated in the luxurious pavilion upon seats of bamboo and silk cushions stuffed with scented dried petals, the curtains in the pavilion woven of shrimp feelers, and the plumes in the fans over their heads from albino peacocks. The pavilion was at the top of the raised marble platform; the Baltics seated on the next level, and lesser guests lower still, with the servants standing at the platform stairs' end. A great, clear net was raised over the court at night to shield from the wind, till evening ascended, in which the net would be let down for a bit. Everyone in the feast all had redwood tables and dinner delicacies before them, eating once more to their hearts' content, and moist towels were being distributed on silver plates with a stick of Lavender rolled in each. Everyone faced south, where near the shimmering pool, a group of singers were performing an opera. The costumes are quite elaborate but not silly fancy, and a blind narrator sat on the side recounting the tale, with a lute in his hands.

Lady Cosette was originally positioned opposite Prince Aezean on her lower platform. She paid no attention to the drama, despite that it was quite stirring. She only took her cup, which was carved in the fashion of a Phoenix closing its wings, and swirled a soft finger on its rim as the gold shone in the brisk of twilight. She looked anxiously towards the west whenever she could. Whenever she did that, however, she also felt somewhat guilty towards Prince Aezean and gave him her look, but the Prince was indulging in grapes, wine and the opera, laughing and spitting out seeds, paying little attention to her-seemingly.

One time, his eyes met hers, and the magnetism of that humanly gaze shot a small bolt throughout her body. She blushed and lowered her eyes, yet, unexpectedly, he reached out his hand to make a gesture; the index and middle bent inwardly, as a sign for her to come forth. She froze, not knowing what to do, but her parents both turned their faces to her and nodded sternly. She could not do but obey and go up. Before the Prince, she bowed her head: "What does my lord wish of me?"

He spoke nothing but smiled lightly, and gestured for her to come even closer. Face burning, she forced herself to do as told; it was then Prince Aezean leaned in and whispered into her ear: "I'll come to your room at midnight. Be prepared."

Cosette jolted, not knowing to feel more angry or ashamed. What sort of behaviour was this? Perhaps, he was pulling her leg, for he clapped his hands together and laughed heartily at her expression when she pulled away. Yet it was too indecent of a joke from a Prince that it should seem an insult. Eyes were drawn to the source of laughter; and Cosette, too embarrassed to rebuke, descended the stairs in a flush and properly seated herself, determined not to look back again.

Finally when the long opera was nearly over, Frost then showed up from the side door, panting and gasping. She came up to the stairs, and whispered something to Lady Cosette's servant. The boy nodded and went up, and told Fronsac what he was instructed to. Fronsac then looked to Lord Baltic for permission; the latter merely flicked his hand, and went on to continue drinking. Fronsac then permitted their leave and left with Cosette, and when she stepped inside the house, the latter called: "No, no, I feel quite ill, you go and watch the opera."

"If that is the case, you'll need someone to take care after you!" Cried Fronsac, but the show and food was too enticing, and so Cosette and Frost together forced her to leave without putting forth too much force. They then went to the side door near the kitchens and, making sure no one's around, opened it. Gavroche and Fantine were waiting outside.

Despite her previous expectations, Frost still heaved a sigh of relief that the duo had actually showed up: "Ah, how glad I am to see you!"

Gavroche nodded, and whispered: "I brought the double; quick, let us finish this ere anyone else comes."

The moment they locked their eyes on each other, Fantine and Cosette could not move them away. They both thought that they had seen their own distorted reflection. Certainly they were not perfect twins, for Fantine's eyebrows and lips were thicker and harsher in their outlines and Cosette's were all delicacy, proof of her upbringing in the house of mirth. Otherwise, however, they both seemed to be cut from the same mould. The fates are proven strange indeed! but there is no time for astonishment, for Fantine and Cosette were quickly being escorted into a cupboard; Frost whispered: "Don't worry, I'll keep a lookout for anyone who comes near-"

"What...is going on?!" Shouted Fantine. Gavroche in reflex clamped her mouth:

"Shhh! Listen to me, swap your clothes with this lady in the cupboard; for the next few days pretend to be sick. Never, ever reveal your face to anyone, and if all goes well, you can marry Prince Aezean and become the future Queen of Frostia!"

At the words "Queen of Frostia" Fantine stopped struggling. Some clarity reentered her eyes. She then looked at Cosette carefully once more, and the lady looked pleadingly back at her on verge of tears. Now feeling the full burden of her task, Fantine bowed her head and went into the cupboard. Gavroche then shut the doors behind them with an exasperate sigh, and the doors banged together loudly.

Frost jumped, and shirked: "Quiet!" but damage was done. Footsteps began to echo in the halls like drums. Frost restrained a tiny scream, before hastily stuffing Gavroche under a polished Ebony table. There was no tablecloth, so she took a seat in front of it near the doorway to cover him, opened and fanned herself with a fan perfumed with Ambergris, and casually looked over the room.

The door opened slightly. Lady Baltic entered the room, tended to by several handmaidens. She looked to Frost, who got up and curtsied: "Lady Baltic." but she did not move away from the table. The silence was so still and tense that you could hear a pin drop.

Lady Baltic stepped forth, her hands folded: "What are you doing here?" Her voice was by no means shattering but penetrating all the same.

Frost continued to bow her head: "I am merely sitting down a little, my lady." She replied softly.

"How dare you," said the lady, angry as flames but somehow cold as ice. "Where is Lady Cosette?"

"She's in her room, my lady."

"Well then, go and attend to her. You have no business sitting down."

Frost nodded but did not move. The lady stood up tall.

"Go. Now."

Frost curtsied once more to exit; but then, Lady Baltic unexpectedly extended a hand and stopped her.

"Give me your fan."

"My lady, the fan is mine-"

"Give it to me."

Frost, trembling with anger, looked up into Lady Baltic's fair, cool eyes that stared back at her as two hard Diamonds. She reluctantly raised the fan, when suddenly something hit Lady Baltic's extended wrist.

The lady shrieked with pain and recoiled; the small stone that bruised her now landed with a clink. The servant girl Maltisse looked into the room, and cried: "My lady, there's someone under the table!"

Gavroche rolled out from under the table, a wooden slingshot in his hand; the handmaidens screamed. Several ran away. The two that remained were enormously weighted, and strayed in to attack little Gavroche. Both of them dived; Frost ran to the other side of the room; Gavroche jumped out of the way onto the table, and they collided. He used this time to retrieve several more stones from his pouch and shot some out, and they all hit the maids on the head. One of them turned around and shouted: "You fouler!" right before Gavroche shot out two stones at once; one struck her in the mouth, and she coughed, stumbling backwards; the other simultaneously struck the other one up her ass, and she jumped before rolling onto the floor. Gavroche then grabbed the big ceramic vase on the table, hopped down again and whacked them both on the head. As they fell unconsciously to the floor, another scream came near the windows, from Frost as Lady Baltic pinched her ear, muttering: "Little bastard!" Gavroche tightened his lips, dashed forth and whacked her on the back of her head. The vase cracked; Lady Baltic gave out a groan before she rolled her eyes upwards, and collapsed.

Frost was leaning on the window, her hand on her breathless chest. She looked at the bodies, the scattered stones and heard the distant shouting. She looked up at Gavroche, her mouth still open:

"You've got to be kidding me."

Gavroche gulped. "Shouldn't have done that."

Frost shook her head: "Quick, make sure you get out quickly!" She then walked quickly forth and knocked on the cupboard: "Hurry, my lady, they are coming!"

Lady Cosette's voice sounded within: "We need more time. You two, please, run away outside. They won't find us in the cupboard at once."

"My lady-"

"Trust me!"

Frost and Gavroche looked at each other, nodded, and exited the room, Frost shutting the door in after them. The distant conversation was getting louder and louder. Cosette put on Fantine's worn dress hurriedly, her heart racing, and her mouth dry. Fantine had more time to do putting on Lady Cosette's clothes, so Cosette had to help her buckle and tie the loose buttons and laces. Finally the veil was put on. The group of talking was very near the door; there was no way to get out without being seen. Lady Cosette grasped Fantine's shoulders and looked into her face, as intensely as she can.

"Listen to me," she said, her voice sounding coarse. "I have a plan."

They were right outside.

"This is your chance to act as me for the first time," she continued. "Go outside, weep, and say that a servant was caught looting and he did this before he escaped. Do not give us away or worry about me."

There was a loud, disgruntled knocking on the door outside that shook the heart. Someone shouted: "My lady! Are you in here?"

Cosette was still looking at Fantine, who nodded in the dark. A tear dripped out of Cosette's eye.

"I'm so sorry you had to face this, whoever you are," she said, and kissed Fantine on the forehead. The latter seemed to quiver a little, shocked and graced by this warmth. And so, as she received the kiss, Fantine whispered:

"Do not worry."

She turned and pushed open the cupboard doors to go out; light poured into the darkness and lit up Fantine's silhouette; Cosette saw, for a moment, as if she herself was walking out the doors, for their figures are so similar. The doors, then, were shut, and the safety of darkness presumed again. She heard her dopplegänger weep as expected. The door was bust open. Gasps, outaged cries arose mingling with sounds of blades being drawn from the servants and guards who came into the room. Cosette heard Fantine continue to cry; she braced herself, and was relieved to hear when a voice ask Fantine: "My lady, are you well?"

She heard Fantine give the story. More angry outbursts came from the weapon bearers, but seeing as there was nothing more they could do, they decided to collect the unconscious bodies and leave. Some sounds of cleaning up was made; she could vaguely see her mother being carried up by a guard. A mass of shuffling feet passed by the doors. Perhaps it was merely illusion, but she felt a few suspicious gazes land upon the cupboard. She could only pray that they did not expose her, and sweat wetted her hairs and clothes; but before she knew it, they all dispersed. There was nothing but silence.

Through the cupboard slit she perceived no one; and so she yanked open the cupboard and stepped cautiously outside. She was alone. No witnesses exist to the previous scene save for maybe some Robins sitting outside on the branches, singing freely. A mirror was hanged upon the wall, old and dulling. Cosette walked in front of it, and felt astounded at the comfort of such low-end clothes she just put on; her blurry reflection returned her look with slight confusion, but it can be safely said that she felt she was looking at that Fantine and not herself, for the changes of attire had completely changed her appearance also. She breathed out a long sigh:

"Free at last!"

"Are you done, my lady?"

She jumped; but it was Gavroche and Frost who had appeared again. They had redressed into the appearance of ordinary servants, shrouded with ordinary cotton and wool clothes, and were looking at her with a musing in their eyes.

"I didn't recognize you for a second; I thought it was the girl," said Gavroche. "But we'd better hurry even more now in case anyone come in and question why we'd brought in a hooker."

"Gavroche!" Frost burst out, and nudged him with an elbow. Cosette laughed, a little sadly.

"Let him have it, Frost," she said, "I am in too much emotions to care; part of it is joy of freedom, another sadness that I am to be leaving this house of my childhood."

Those tears that were not exactly suppressed as of late seemed to well up again; yet the thought that if she remained, she shall have to be chained, and trapped in these dungeons, marrying that Prince under the tight supervision of her parents...she cannot stand. Thoughts of Marius' love brought comfort to her heart.

They understood and let her have a moment before Frost gently urged: "My lady, come; it is growing late, you will not be able to ride out of the city ere curfew if we stay yonder."

Cosette nodded, brushing away a wetness at her cheek, held up her head and went thence. Frost knew well the shortcuts and passages of their home; once or twice they were nearly caught, but hid themselves or escaped in time from the forewarning of voices. Finally they got out of the Baltic mansion; bathing in deep, fresh Spring air, Gavroche got on his pony while Cosette rode the one Fantine came with. She was just about to bid a final farewell to Frost, when she recognized a pale shadow that was lingering nearby.

The young man of the shadow was barely twenty, though he appeared much older due to the fatigues of unrest he had for the past days. He heard the stirring, and raised his head to see if it was the Lady of his Dreams. And it was more, a thousand times more, than what he had fancied. The lady herself, though dressed plainly, immediately astounded him with her increased beauty gained during the past the years, and with Frost and Gavroche at her side smiling victoriously, he knew, that with some miracles, they had succeeded. Though they were supposed to rendezvous at Plummets, they both instead steered their horse heads and came to each other. No words could describe the surges and feelings of such young hearts, she looking upon her Heaven, and he upon his Earth and Waters.

Marius hopped off of his horse, and approached Cosette with cautiousness and fear, for he seemed frightened, that after all, this was to be a dream in reality. Cosette then gave him her hand, which on her middle finger, bore the Emerald family signet. He put her hand in his, clamping the skins of silk, and felt for himself that his light was real. "Thank goodness," he tried to cry, but it only came out as a whisper. He kissed the hand. Gavroche and Frost cheered.

"Lord Marius," said Cosette as she broke the silence, "we must not stay here."

"Certainly not," Marius snapped back to the earth in answer: "My lady, there shall be no delay. Exit these gates, and we shall travel out of Porthos, out of Eagle's Thorn, out of the Sphere, and a single word from you, we would travel to the ends of the Magma. We will fly wherever we wish, as lord and lady, husband and wife, bear no err, and no one shall separate us."

Gavroche had cleverly turned his head to make it appear as if he was watching for guards. Marius kissed Cosette's wrist, and then went up to Gavroche, patting him on the thigh. Gavroche pretended to look to his master with surprise as if he has just noticed the latter's presence. Marius laughed:

"The way you served me for many years! I bought you off as an orphan from your terrible parents. Dear Gavroche, come to our company and journey with us, for it is a long and perilous one, and we would not have made far without your wisdom."

"Me! I know nothing, I just tried to help you, master. And of course I'll come along!"

Marius took both Gavroche's hands. "No; to reward you you shall not accompany us as slave, but companion; for on this day, I free you from my service. You may go wherever you wish, from seas to caves to skies to earths, I would give you my blessing."

Gavroche stared at Marius disbelievingly. After this speech, he immediately drew back his sleeve, revealing his pulse; and to his delight, he discovered the tattoo gone. Glee shot into his eyes uncontrollably, as they mixed with gratefulness. "Hooray! Hooray! I love you, my only master-my brother!"

Gavroche jumped off his horse and kissed Marius on the cheek. Frost was breathing heavily, while Cosette nodded at the wise choice of her future husband, before steering the horse head and adding: "Now shall we go?" Yet as this happened, Frost hurried forth and clasped tightly onto her horse reins, with no signs of desire to part. Cosette became slightly alarmed, but quickly relaxed, and smiled: "What is it, my dear helper?"

Frost's eyes did not exactly remain dry: "My lady, I came upon your household when I was a barefoot lass, orphaned at two and further abandoned a year thereon. Your family accepted me into the household. I could not do but bond myself to you, to repay for the kindness your house has shown me. Your happiness became mine; when wraths of flames overtook the hearth of your soul mine could not remain calm aside; your despair and agony pierced in me as well. Now must one flesh be severed? Must we clip the wings from the mighty eagle? Nay, tell me that you will take me, or from this day, I will leave and live out my days in a monastery hence."

Frost bent one knee to kneel on the sandy ground, both hands still holding onto the reins, her visage facing downwards. Cosette was flabbergasted, and knew not what to say except: "But they will become suspicious of my double if you do not stay to help her!"

"I care not. I owe my loyalty to my lady alone, and I will protect her from whatever evil bears hence. My lady, you do not know the wearies of travel; you need a handmaiden. A trusted handmaiden."

Cosette hesitated, uncertain of what course of action to make, till Marius intercepted: "Let her come, Cosette. She's right. She could be of use to us on the journey, and as for that prostitute we've left behind, she does not know us. She will not give us away even if they put her in harm."

"Let her come, Lady Cosette, I think Fantine will do just fine," said Gavroche.

Cosette at last sighed, and turned to Frost.

"From this day forth, you are no longer my maidservant except by your own free will, and I invite you to travel with me as mistress and servant-only if you permit it. As proof of your renewed status, your old name ere you took the name my family gave for you shall be restored. The name 'Frost' no longer weighs your bones and flesh, for your old name, Arduin, shall be what you are called by once more!"

Arduin, hearing this, clasped her lady's hands so tight that a storm could not have undo the clasp, and she kissed them as well. Cosette patted her on the head with all the love of a sister.

"Now take up that horse and come with us," she said, "If you so wish. I myself will travel on the same horse as Lord Marius."

"Oh, I do wish so!" Cried Arduin, as if she could give Cosette the world's greatest embrace at the moment. "Thank you, Lady Cosette!"

She did as she was told and clad upon Marius's caramel coloured horse. Marius snuffed, and flipped himself onto the saddle behind Cosette, grasped the reins and putting his arms around her. "To the west, east, north, south, southeast, northwest, north north south south, corners of the sea, as we wish!" Cried Marius. And they set off.

Cosette laid her fingers on Marius's arms as they galloped across Porthos. "It will be dangerous out there," she murmured. "I will use a surrogate name; from now, call me Úrsule."

Marius did not answer, but softly rested his chin on her head. Houses, trees and street signs flashed past them; the horizon was beginning to open, brimming with the colour of burning copper which tainted all clouds and lights, as the Magma proceeded to swallow the Sphere once more. The red liquid waves were bubbling vehemently, a living entity of its own; somewhere off, a horn and a great bell sounded-the sound of curfew. Marius gritted his teeth, his hair flying across his brow, and turned to look at Gavroche galloping on his left, and Arduin racing on his right. "Hurry hence," he said through his teeth, and gave his horse rein a great shake. The ebony black horse neighed, speeding onwards like a deathly cyclone. As all were gathered at the Baltic mansion, there were few people on the streets, and lesser still who would take caution at the Four Riders.

Except, perhaps, for these two.

The two figures were walking on the road, quite alone save for each other, one on each side. As he dashed past them, Marius could not help but throw back a glance. There was, of the two companions, an old man with a snow white beard wearing a faded pine coloured cloak; and another one, tiny and small, in bard's garments. He must've seen them somewhere, for their figures evoked feelings of familiarity; a curious thing that these ordinary looking people should walk in the outskirts at this time. However, he gave it no more thought, as the gates of Porthos drew near.

The two men walked on casually; the old man was clearly disturbed by the Riders, and began to talk: "Y-y-you...d-don't think...th-th-they h-have i-i-it, d-do you?" At the end of the sentence he suddenly jumped and gave a high pitched and nervous laughter, like a jester. The tiny bard walked on with no signs of emotion:

"No. Quit thinking. I did not sense it."

A cold wind rose. Some worn wanted posters were flapping furiously. In fact, the walls and houses that the posters were attached to seem to shake as well, as if they could tip over at any moment. It was, after all, the outskirts slums. All the houses were shut, barred or lights off'd, all save one, which still had some flickering candlelight coming out of the windows and openings.

They stopped outside.

Anita the tailoress was inside her home, an old furnace lit, and she sat a little closer to the fire with her loom. Nothing seemed out of place save for the three floating goblets in the room, each containing dying liquids of scarlet, pink, and cinnamon. The liquids were bubbling as though they were put over fire rather than air; occasionally Anita would wave her fingers as she loomed, and some white, unused threads in neat little bundles sitting on the table would fly up and dip themselves into one of the three goblets; when they were brought out again and landed themselves onto the tables, the threads were dyed and dried most thoroughly, ready for use. A fourth goblet was sitting on the table next to Anita containing nothing more than good gin which refilled itself when it was drained. The tailoress' sunken cheeks, as she worked, were becoming redder and redder, her gaze fuzzier, and then she reached out for yet another drink-seemingly oblivious to the shadow who opened her door and stepped into her house.

The figure continued further into the room, closer and closer. Anita had her back to it and had started to hum "Merry old Veriadoc in the mountains deep..." in the silence. She did not seem to hear anything due to her deafness. The shadow had nearly approached her. A dark hand reached out to her head.

She suddenly spun around, her face completely transformed, wrathful as Medusa. Her hairs went up and out of nowhere, needles shot out from hidden corners of the room in the dark; shines of silver from the needles reflected off the pine coloured cloak as the figure, in panic, dodged and shielded himself from the oncoming weapons. He howled in pain even if he was merely scratched.

The needles were carrying blood-stained threads in their eyes, and as they flew across the room and pinned into the walls, the threads were stretched out, forming a distinctive web that entrapped the intruder; when he moved but a little and touched a thread, he shrieked like a tarantula for it would burn the skin; Anita across the room moved forth like Arachnid, her orb-like eyes staying on her prey, who was desperately trying to writhe out from the threads; sharp nails in the colours of rotten flesh unsheathed from Anita's fingers. "Where do you come from and what is your intention?" She asked.

The old man stopped jerking as she came nearer, and then suddenly he beamed, revealing a mouthful of metallic teeth; she recoiled a little, and he, at once, drew out his ring, and cried: "Aru bok shig'nai et desancta!" The ring glowed; A muddy claw sprung from the gemstone, its arm lengthening like a cobra, and dived for Anita while coming out through the threads.

Anita turned and let it pass her; she then put two fingers to her lips and the web suddenly collapsed, tightening and chaining the old man who cried in horror as his flesh burned, and the claw's movement slowed; from its palm, however, it spat out an enormous wasp, which dived and clung itself onto Anita's face. She screamed, revealing her fangs, and bit into the wasp's abdomen, simultaneously as it stung its tail into her neck. The goblets of dyes dropped and shattered over the floor, the liquids still smoking, and the claw writhing nearby grabbed Anita's leg and flipped her over. The wasp rolled to the side, twitched, and stopped moving; the claw then pinned Anita down on her waist. She gasped, paralyzing, her mouth dripping with foul green guts of the monster wasp. There was no more sound except for the old man still struggling to loosen his bonds, then even he fell onto the floor, panting, and all noise was extinguished.

Another shadow fell on the door and walked in the room quietly. Anita looked at the stranger, and though she could see no more than her dim vision allowed of a blurring figure, she smelled the familiar sulphur reeking from his coat to guess the stranger's identity. She gurgled:

"H...H...Hu..."

"Needle Atina's blades run sharp still," said the bard, picking up a stray needle on the ground and feeling its tip. He looked down at the helpless body of the tailoress, took out a chip of jade from his pocket, and placed it into her nostrils. He then took out another flask of red liquid, and poured it into her nose, washing the jade into her nasal. She gurgled, and a moment later, gave a huge sneeze-brown liquid gushed out of her ears, mouth and nose; sweat from her brow. Her tongue was free to move, but she could not move her arms. Still, it was enough freedom for her to spit on his face and retort in anguish: "How dare you appear before us again!"

The old man who was tied up on the floor giggled loudly; the bard pressed a pulse on Atina and the threads fell, lifeless, from the old man's body.

The bard then smiled politely: "I'll care no longer for our business; but tell me this. A little girlie I was tracking. I sensed she carried something I wanted. Yet, I lost her. When I followed her here she went outta your house, but she no longer carried the thing. I could not sense it anywhere; Porthos is big and I have little time or patience. Where is it?"

He put a hand on Atina's neck. She gasped, feeling some tingling coming back to her fingers, but responded in mockery:

"I...have...many...girls...come...don't...know...which..."

"Lies!" Hissed the bard, and closed his hand on her neck. Though life was being squeezed out of her, Atina still refused to speak anything.

In the meantime, the mad old man had recovered, and brushing the threads off his clothes, he laughed and hopped around exploring the room. He looked at the works of embroidery on display and drank from the cup of gin on the table as the bard interrogated Atina, becoming less nervous when his lips touched alcohol. He then went on walking; as he touched the broken goblet pieces, the looms and the threads, he picked up a piece of scrap paper lying on the floor. The crinkling alarmed the bard, who looked back swiftly without loosening his grip on Atina's throat. When he saw the scrap paper, his eyes narrowed, and he let go of the tailoress, went up and tore it out of the old man's hands.

"Give me that!"

The old man's lips trembled nervously, and he backed away. The bard tried to read the writing but it was already too dark, so he went up to the crackling fires and bent down beside the table. The fire light shone upon the black ink clear on white parchment:

**Ms Fantine's Pawnshop Receipt**

_Toy bird_

_Handkerchief_

_Manacle_

**99**

The last imprint was a shop logo. The bard, already excited when he saw the word "manacle", squinted with effort to read the name of the shop, not noticing the least that Atina's fingers had begun to point towards the goblet upon the table:

"M-AHHHH!"

The goblet tipped over and poured its gin over onto the parchment, and the paper was eaten up like acid. The bard jumped backwards and examined his hand: it was scorched all over and swells began to appear.

He breathed heavily before releasing a grunt of anger. Atina on the other hand cackled weakly at his loss: "Har har! Hugo, your skills are ailing!"

Hugo gave her no notice, but merely tapped the old man on the shoulder: "Come, let's go." The old man giggled and jumped up again, scratching the back of his hand and following Hugo out like a dog. Atina continued to cackle, fainter and fainter, till it died out altogether.

Hugo clutched his scorched hand which was still shaking; the old man followed after him, looking as if he had something to say. At last the latter gathered enough courage and tugged Hugo on the sleeve: "You'll give me what I want, yes? Y-y-you'll g-give m-me? Yes? Hugo?"

"Yes, yes," Hugo cut him off impatiently. "You shall have what you want."

The old man, hearing this, became giddy as a schoolboy and dashed in front of Hugo, dancing in the darkness. A street lamp cast an orangish luminescence on him; in a minute both were gone from the streets, into the cool mist of night.


End file.
